Worse Than The Bathroom
by SALJStella
Summary: Why did Jigsaw put Adam in that bathroom? He was voyeur, yes. But there was also something else. And that didn't disappear just because he made it out of the trap. AdamLawrence. Rated for language and sexual overtones.
1. Prologue: Pain

**A/N: I'M BACK! ****My friends, I have returned with another angsty Adam/Lawrence fic! Which is ironic, since I finished the last one yesterday, but oh well… This chapter is short, but it's just the prologue. The next one will be longer, I promise! Hope you all like it!**

**Prologue: Pain**

Adam Faulkner is in pain.

He's in such an awful pain.

He's on his bed, he squeezes his eyes shut, tries to sleep, tries to think his suffering away.

But it's so hard to fall asleep when your stomach aches.

After a while Adam stops pretending that he's not in pain. Instead, he whimpers like a child and rolls up into a ball, presses his arms against his abdomen.

He knows there's a simple way to make the agony go away. But just the thought of going to the kitchen and get something to eat makes his stomach turn, despite the pain.

When you see someone getting hurt in a movie, it's so easy to laugh about it.

Those poor actors writhes, moans and bleeds. And you can sigh or yawn and think that the story is pretty trivial.

But when pain like this isn't in a movie, but for real, you can't laugh about it. You can't even describe it.

It's like the pain is a monster, a terrible beast, that crushes you in a hot, feverish embrace. It embraces you, devours you and melts you, and then you don't live anymore.

Exist anymore.

Before the pain and the hunger forces Adam into something that can either be pain or unconsciousness, he does something he's never done before. He prays.

He doesn't drop down on his knees, he doesn't clasp his hands together, but inside of his head, he prays.

_Please, God, _he thinks and gasps when the pain is mixed with nausea. _Please, God, let me sleep. Let me get away from the pain, let the sleep set me free. _

_Please, God, let me fall asleep now. And never let me wake up again._

**Loves it? Hated it? Please review! **


	2. Breakfast With Blue Eyes

**A/N: Not much to say about this chapter… Umm… Many thanks to those who have reviewed so far! There's only three of you, but still! Hope you all review and like this one, too. And to Audra Markwell: It will be interesting to see if you, by this chapter, figures out what kind of pain Adam was in the last chapter! **

**Disclaimer: If I owned Saw, Adam would survive and live happily ever after. With Lawrence! So I don't.**

**1: Breakfast With Blue Eyes**

Adam wakes up. He wakes up this morning, too.

The sunlight seeps into his room through his broken blinders, tickles his red-edged eyes, and wakes him up. In a not too gentle way.

Adam grunts and covers his eyes with his hands.

Jesus. The next time he writhes on his bed and doesn't want to wake up the next day, he won't care how much pain he's in. He'll pray in the right way, he'll go down to his knees and put his hands together. And then he will pray. Then, God might listen to him.

_Please, Adam, _a tiny voice in his mind says. _If you want to die, why don't you just stop lying there and hope you won't wake up? Can't you just go to the bathroom, grab the razorblade that lies on the sink and get it over with?_

Adam scoffs and pulls the blanket over his head.

Kill himself. As if he'd ever have the guts to do that. He's a chicken, just looking at that razorblade sends a cold beam if fear through his body.

He _has_ tried. One night, when the pain in his stomach actually got too much, he had sat down on the bathroom floor and pressed the blade to his wrist. But he hadn't dared.

Maybe he appreciates his life a little, after all.

Adam squeezes his eyes shut

_(just like you did last night, when the pain was a monster, a monster that crushed you)_

and tries to go back to sleep. But now it's too late, the sun has made its work, and he's wide awake. The pain is gone, and his stomach is filled with a feeling of emptiness. And he doesn't feel like filling it in at all.

He should eat something. He knows that. Adam is smart, even though he doesn't use his intelligence that much.

He knows the human body needs food. He knows that if he's going to get the energy to do anything reasonable, if he's going to get the energy to follow people and take their picture, he's going to need food. Get some nourishment. He knows what will happen to him if he goes without food for too long.

Ah, well. Who cares? Athletics need a lot of food, people that are up and about all the time need a lot of food. Freelance photographers, that by the way rarely get jobs at all now days, doesn't need food. They get by.

_I'm a survivor, I'm gonna make it, _Adam sings quietly in his head as he sweeps he blanket off his head and lets the sunlight give him the headache it longed for.

He'll get by. He always gets by.

With that thought, he rises to his feet. The cigarettes are on the nightstand, and he knows you're not supposed to smoke the first thing in the morning. But he still grabs one from the packet, lights it and draws a puff in an almost desperate way, hungering for the nicotine's calming rush.

He smiles bitterly and walks out to the living room. The TV is on, he must have forgotten to turn it off yesterday. The newslady is sitting on her blue chair and announces her news to no one.

Adam glares at her. God, it's been long since he had a girlfriend.

"Aren't you delicious," he mumbles and throws himself onto the couch.

She continues to read. He ice blue eyes looks right at him and ignore him at the same time.

Her blue eyes are all wide, and they're full of fright, almost madness, because she just saw off her foot to save her family, and now she crawls towards the door, and when Adam, the Adam that he was a year ago, desperately screams her name, she finally turns around. But she doesn't crawl back to him, she continues to purposefully crawl against the exit, but not before she's whispered that she wouldn't lie to him.

Adam draws another puff.

_Oh, right, _he thinks as he feels the smoke fill up his brain. _Now I'm not thinking of _her _blue eyes, I'm thinking about _his.

The thought just manage to brush over his mind before Adam pushes it away as if it wears an infection.

"Damn it, Lawrence," he mutters.

Fine, Lawrence is aloud to always sneak into his dreams in some way, but when he's awake, he wants to think about himself a little.

When Adam is awake, he doesn't want those blue orbs to fill up his mind. To leave him without a fair chance.

He hasn't met Lawrence in a year. But lately he's been in Adam's head more every day.

Just that thought.

_If Lawrence knew I lived like this… _

He can't stop himself. The thought rings in Adam's mind, and it's so stupid, really. Lawrence isn't his dad.

In fact, he barely seems to care whatsoever.

And when _that _thought comes up, Adam has to think it in a ridiculously bitter way.

Yes, it's a stupid thought. But what else is he to do? He doesn't have a life, he doesn't get any jobs, so all he really _can _do is to sit on his couch, talk to himself and let stupid thoughts pop up in his head, like the bubbles in the beer he usually holds.

The pretty newsgirl keeps talking. She stares at Adam without seeing him, and Adam hears her without listening. After about a half hour he gets up and looks around for a new pack of cigarettes, finds one and lights his third cigarette this day as he walks to the kitchen.

It looks like shit, just like it did before he went to bed.

_Yeah, well, it's hardly going to clean itself up while you're squirming around on your bed, _a quipping voice in his head says.

No. Of course not.

Adam glances at the fridge. The hole in his stomach screams, but not because it wants to be filled up. It's more like it's screaming to maintain empty and clean.

Adam draws a long puff and opens up the fridge, nonetheless.

Bread, ham, a forgotten cucumber. Just the thought of putting some of it into his mouth makes his screaming stomach turn even more than it did last night.

"No," Adam says loudly and slams the refrigerator shut so hard that the bottles of beer that stands in its door rattles. "No."

Instead, he walks up to the stove and looks at the dirty coffee pot. He turns up the heat and watches as the pot slowly starts to steam.

_You won't have breakfast, will you?_

The voice in his head smiles sadistically.

No. He won't have breakfast.

But then the mocking voice gets replaced by a gentle, calm voice. The same voice that told Adam that he wouldn't lie to him, but currently, the voice hasn't sawed his foot off. It hasn't gone insane.

_Adam, you have to eat. Just something small, so you get through the day. _

_I don't want to. Please, Lawrence, I really don't want to. _

_Just something. Get a sandwich, you had bread, didn't you? _

Adam sighs.

_You wouldn't lie to me. And I wouldn't refuse to do anything you told me. You know that. _

He walks up to the fridge and opens it up once again. The bread seems to grin at him as he picks up a slice from the plastic bag.

_You gave in to the hunger, you goddamn little pussy. _

Adam hurries up to the stove and takes the coffeepot off it when he smells burned caffeine. And as he pours the black liquid into the same cup he used yesterday, he gets a bite from the slice of bread.

The bite swells, grows by every chewing until it's to big to swallow, and Adam has to punch himself in the chest to get his pitiful breakfast down to his screaming stomach.

**(Tries to use telepathy) Press the button, press the button, give in to the button… **


	3. Proud Or Anorexic

**A/N: Ladies and ****gentlemen****… ABRA-KA-CHAPTER! It's a ****long one, too, so hopefully it will keep you entertained for a while. And for the record: I am senselessly grateful for the wonderful reviews. I've only gotten four of them, but if you write in a unpopular category, you have to stand up for the consequences, right? Anyway, enjoy!**

**2: Proud Or Anorectic **

Wonderful little drug.

Adam breathes in, deeply, a minute almost passes before he exhales again and smiles, pleased, as he looks at the cigarette.

_You have such an exciting life, Adam, _he thinks with a black sense of humor. _You have one friend, and who is that? Well, it's your beloved nicotine. _

He knows he should have eaten lunch by now. Plus, he should've eaten more for breakfast than a lonely slice of bread.

But Jesus, he's not going to sit here and enumerate all the things in his life he should have done. By now, it's almost been a year since someone actually confronted him in that question, and no one would say he'd straightened up since then. It's quite the opposite, things have just gotten worse.

Right. Since he got out of the bathroom, everything has gotten worse. The piercing pain in his stomach, the fact that he can't look on a plate of food without feeling something that can only be described as pure disgust.

Everything has gotten worse, and there's nothing he can do without it.

Adam sits down on the couch and stares at the TV, still without actually seeing it. It seems to be an almost interesting documentary about World War II.

_What do voyeurs see when they look in the mirror? _

Adam's bitter smile gets wider.

_Voyeur? Was that why you wrecked my life, Jigsaw? Because I took pictures of people? _

_Bullshit. You're so fucking full of bullshit. _

_You locked me up in that bathroom because you saw that my life slowly faded away from me anyway. You locked me up in there because you need food to live, and I don't need food. _

_You know what I need? I need cigarettes, because they mess up your appetite. I need to get away from food, because food grosses me out. _

Adam nods to himself.

It's true that athletic, alert people need food. But also, sissies need food. Weak people need food. And Adam is strong. He's strong because that's what he has to be.

If he turns weak again, if he does what he did before the bathroom, rolls up into a fetus and pities himself, Jigsaw will be back. The slightest sign of weakness will also be a sign that he doesn't appreciate his life.

So Adam stays strong. And honestly, what is stronger than a person who survives without food? That's like a car that manages to keep running without gas!

In that way, Adam feels sort of proud of himself when he gets up again and walks to the kitchen.

_Come on, Adam, _the voice in his head says. _Don't fool yourself. You've said it already: You were like this before the bathroom. You don't refuse to eat to look strong in front of Jigsaw. You refuse to eat because you're fucking anorectic, and too prideful to ask anyone for help. _

"I don't have any goddamn anorexia!" Adam hisses as he opens up the fridge.

The voice in his head doesn't respond. But Adam knows it's still smirk at him.

On some level he also knows that it's the lack of food that makes him hallucinate.

That it's the silently roaring hunger that puts a film of black spots in front of his eyes.

He looks in the fridge for the second time today.

_See? _Another voice in his head says. One that doesn't want what's best for him. _The second time today. This is the second time today you give in to the hunger. Jigsaw did the right thing by putting you in that trap. He knew you would give him some entertainment. That you wouldn't make it, because you're such a goddamn pussy. _

_You know why you survived?_

_It was because you accepted help. You would never admit it, since you're so incredibly stubborn, but you accepted help. From Lawrence. _

"Shut up," Adam says calmly and grabs another slice of bread from the bag in the fridge. "I didn't want his damn help. It wasn't my fault he send those cops back for me."

The voice stays quiet this time, too. And this time, Adam is the one who smirks as he gets a bite from the bread.

Once again, the bite swells up in his mouth. Once again, it doesn't make him feel better at all, and once again Adam has to cover his mouth with his hand to keep himself from throwing up when the slice of bread, that seems perfectly innocent from the outside, brings life back to his retracted, screaming stomach.

"God…" Adam moans and moves his hand down to his abdomen.

It hurts.

Jesus, it hurts!

What the hell is wrong with him? Food isn't supposed to do this to people! That's the very reason that half of all adult American citizens suffer from overweight: Food is supposed to be good. It's supposed to give nourishment, but it's also supposed to give pleasure.

_You know damn well why you can't enjoy food, _a voice in his head says.

Adam sighs and thinks of what that voice told him a year ago.

_To overcome something you have to understand what a perfect engine it is. _

Up until today, the voice in his head was always his own. Now, it's changing. And just a few, awful times, it's…

It's Lawrence's voice. In Adam's head.

Adam shakes his head wildly and presses the entire slice of bread into his mouth, and it's a wonderful torture when he feels the gooey mass run down his throat.

But after a couple of minutes the torture still gets the best of him, and he goes to the bathroom, puts two fingers as far back in his mouth as he can and throws up everything he's eaten today.

Then he stands in the shower for an hour, rubs the soap hard against his body until his arms are bleeding and he feels like he's almost washed away the filth of food from himself.

He pretends not to notice that most of the wetness on his face isn't water from the shower, but tears that insists on rising in his eyes.

He does know what it means. He knows what it means that the mere thought of food makes him want to go to the toilet and vomit again, even though he doesn't have anything left to get up.

He knows what it means that he feels so dreadfully gross those few times when Lawrence's voice reaches him and he goes to the kitchen to eat something.

He knows what eating disorders are. He knows that he will actually die if he goes on like this.

But in some way, this has gotten into a war of pride. If he stops now and starts to eat three meals a day like a normal human being, the food has… _Won, _or whatever you want to call it.

And in a bizarre way, we feels so childishly good about himself those times when the hunger really gets to much and he's laying on his bed, writhing in pain, like he did last night, and still doesn't eat. He stands his ground. He's strong.

_Stop it, _Lawrence's voice says. _Just stop it. You're not strong at all when you're not eating. It's the other way around, when you're hungry and don't eat, you're so pathetically weak that you can't even do something you know is good for yourself. _

"Fuck you," Adam mutters and turns off the shower.

When he gets out of the bathtub, he's very careful not to look in the mirror. He knows he looks like a ghost, and he doesn't want to remind himself of that unless it's necessary.

He knows he's skinny like a skeleton. But he likes to pretend he's not. He doesn't want to be aware of the fact that he really is unusually thin, _sickly _thin.

_No, you don't, _Lawrence says. _You want to live a lie. So tell me, Adam, what _do _you want to do?_

Adam puts on the shirt that lays messily thrown on the bathroom floor.

"I'll tell you what I really want to do," he says huskily as he buttons his shirt with stiff, jittery fingers. "I'm all out on cigarettes, so I want to get out and get new ones. I want to get back here, I want to smoke and watch porn or a crappy Travolta-flick on Channel Three. Okay?"

Adam doesn't even wait for an answer this time. He just buttons his jeans, too, decides that he can leave the jacket at home since it's the middle of June, walks into his boots without tying them, opens up the door and walks outside.

_Okay, _he thinks and checks his pockets for money. _If I'd try to be completely honest, and pretend that Lawrence's little voice doesn't hear me, what would I really want to do right now?_

To be honest with yourself is scary. Especially when you almost never have been that before.

But now, Adam tries it out.

Now, he would like to go to a hospital. He would like to swallow his pride.

He would like to go to Lawrence's hospital, even though he doesn't know the name of it or where it is. He would like to walk up to Lawrence and sit in his lap, cry his eyes out like a little kid that scraped his knee. And then he would like Lawrence to help him, made him eat somehow, and the he would… He would bring Lawrence to a restaurant, and then they would eat. They would eat for the whole night, and Adam wouldn't throw up afterwards.

Adam keeps walking to the store. The black spots in his sight get bigger by the second, and his head feels strangely empty, but he ignores it and keeps thinking.

That's what he would like to happen. But he knows it can't be that way.

Because his pride can't be swallowed. It's a lump in his throat that's kept growing for his whole life. It's a lump that no food can get past.

Adam speeds up his steps. He needs a cigarette, and fast. Because it has to be the lack of nicotine that makes his head spin like that, hasn't it?

But after just a few more meters, he has to stop and lean against a wall.

When he wants a cigarette, it doesn't usually feels like this.

When he hasn't smoked in an hour he usually gets easily annoyed, he gets a little nauseous and restless.

But now…

The whole world is spinning.

At least the small percentage of it that he sees does. The black water of unconsciousness has devoured the majority of the world by now.

But even in his almost-passed out condition, Adam can discern the sound of footsteps behind him. And he can hear his own name being said in a worried intonation.

"Adam!"

A hand on his shoulder.

Before he faints, Adam manages to think that the last time that hand touched him, it was on his cheek, and that time it left a bloody print. The hand was cold from the blood loss, and it belonged to Lawrence.

He hasn't even seen him, but somehow, Adam knows that it's Lawrence that stands behind him. He spins around. And the rest of the world does, too.

"Lawr…"

Not even the whole name manages to leave Adam's lips before he falls forward, and a pair of strong arms receives his light, motionless body.

**Cliffhanger… Review, my darling ChainShippers, or it will jump! **


	4. Hope To Mend A Broken Heart

**A/N: Allow me to ****be frame: This chapter is pretty useless, but I couldn't keep myself from writing it. That damn plot bunny harassed me… Sorry if it bores you, but here it is anyway: Chapter three.**

**3: Hope To Mend A Broken Heart **

Grim light.

It tickles Adam's eyes, even though they're closed.

He knows, even in a condition of nearly unconsciousness, that he will never remember this feeling.

And he will always be grateful for that.

He will never remember this feeling, but he's very aware of it now.

He feels how the stiff, disinfected sheets stick to his skin by the cold sweat way too clearly.

He feels the pricking pain from a needle in his hand, he feels the sour taste of vomit in his mouth. Which is odd, since he threw up… He doesn't remember how long it's been. As far as he knows, it's possible that he's been passed out for a week.

But the strongest feeling is the hunger.

By God, the hunger.

The hunger isn't a great monster that crushes him with its embrace anymore, but a small, angry animal, a sadistic little rat with sharpened claws, yellow teeth, and it's inside of his stomach, it scratches and it bites, and every now and then, it raises an evil shriek.

He's hungry.

Adam is so terribly hungry.

The last thing he thinks before he faints again is:

_I'm dying. _

_This is what it feels like to die. _

_Lawrence… Rescue me… _

xxxxxxxxxxx

What Adam doesn't know is that Lawrence really did save him.

Lawrence saved his life, just for starters. He saved Adam's life by keeping his promise and send someone back for him that day in the bathroom. But he also saved Adam by catching him when he fell. Then he only saved him from a concussion, of course, but still.

And something else that Adam doesn't know is that his chart is hooked to the foot of his bed. He doesn't know that the words on it are:

_Name: Faulkner, Adam James_

_Age: 27 yr_

_Treatment: Put on an IV-drip for eight hours_

_Reason to hospital staying: Lack of nourishment and blood. Probably anorexic. Therapy and a doctor specialized in anorexia recommended. _

_Current condition: Unconscious _

Adam really doesn't think he's anorexic. On some level he probably knows, but the fact that _he, _that, after all, is _normal _despite the fact that his life is a big fat fucking failure, would have an eating disorder… It doesn't fit into his brain. Mostly because it has the habit to block out things that are too hard for it. But eventually, Lawrence will tell him about it.

He will tell Adam this fact that he already knows.

He will tell Adam that he does have it. He, despite the fact that he's a grown man and he should know better, despite the fact that about 97 percent of the victims to anorexia are female and that the chance for male people to get it is almost not even there because it's so small, has anorexia.

He's had it for almost two years. He's still not used to the pain.

But that, too, s a thing that Adam doesn't know, but that Lawrence will explain to him sooner or later. Lawrence knows, since he's a doctor. Even if eating disorders aren't really his territory, he knows quite a lot about pain.

He knows that you never get used to it. Never ever.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The IV fulfills its point after about twelve hours of feeding someone unconscious. Adam wakes up.

It's dark, and he's dizzy. It takes a while for his eyes to get used to the darkness. And even when they do, it's like the room is swimming around in his vision.

_Jesus Christ…_

_This isn't my apartment. _

Adam draws his hand over his face with a grunt. It isn't right away that he realizes why he's in a clinically clean hospital bed, instead of his own, in which the sheets are yellow by all the cigarettes he's smoked before he fell asleep.

He'd passed out.

Adam finally lets his hand settle on his forehead. God, what a bitch of a headache. What a bitch of a lack of memory. His entire mind is like a black, cold ocean, a tenacious mass.

But then, the memories return, one by one.

Slowly they stick up from the black water, like dark fishes.

He… Had been on his way to the store. His head had been spinning.

And before he fainted…

A voice.

Two strong arms that received him.

And the last, conclusive memory hits him like a whack over his already pained head, and with a small gasp, Adam moves his hand down to his mouth.

Lawrence.

He turns his upper body to get a better view of the room.

Lawrence! For god's sake, where is Lawrence?

When Adam finally sees the chair in the corner next to his bed, he's terrified at first.

In his paranoid head, the dark figure that's sitting in the chair can't be someone who wants what's best for him. He can't imagine someone that's almost covered by darkness to be someone besides Jigsaw, Jigsaw that's hidden in his cloak and about to kidnap him, that's about to say, with his raspy voice, that he wants to play a game…

Adam shakes his head, just in case Jigsaw would see him.

_No way. No fucking way. I won't go back to that bathroom. Not to that fucking hellhole. I don't deserve it. I made it out, I'm alive, I… _

_Stop it, _the voice in his head says. _Jigsaw doesn't give a crap about any of that. He knows you're weak, that you gave in to something as pitiful as hunger._

_He's came to punish you for those slices of bread. _

A dry sob tears across Adam's throat.

And then, the darkened silhouette in the chair startles. Apparently it had fallen asleep, maybe nodded off after twelve hours of watching over the thin, sickly pale little person in the hospital bed.

It isn't until then Adam realizes who sits in the chair.

Lawrence.

He can't see his face, but just like when he heard the voice outside in the street, he knows who he is.

Lawrence jumps up from his seat, and even though you can tell he really needed those ten, maybe fifteen minutes of sleep he got, he almost seems ashamed. And when Adam sees a glint of his face in the glow from the streetlight outside the window, he feels, despite the fact that everything really is downright miserable, a tiny spark of joy lights up his heart.

"I'm sorry, Adam, I just nodded off," Lawrence mumbles, as if he read his mind. "How are you? My god, you've been out for half a day. Will you be okay? Are you…"

Adam smiles. For the first in a year.

Now, Lawrence is a doctor again. He realizes that this is the first time that he got a chance to see Lawrence as the person he actually is, for real. The last time Adam saw him, he was panicking, he was wounded, and god, how pale he was!

But now, he's… Normal. Tired and nervous, yes, but normal. It feels unfamiliar.

Lawrence quiets down immediately when he sees Adam's smile.

"What are you smiling at? You passed out, you…"

"We haven't met in a whole fucking year," Adam interrupts and lays back down. "I won't get a 'hello' at all?"

Lawrence smiles, a little embarrassed, but still warmly, and places a hand on his shoulder.

"Hello, Adam," he says, a little calmer. "Long time no see."

Adam swallows a _too long _that rolls up onto his tongue. Instead of saying it, he lays his hand upon Lawrence's, with a small hesitation.

"How long have you even sat here?" Adam asks after a few short seconds, and takes his hand away. "You're a wreck."

"Oh, no," Lawrence says and waves his hand, dismissing his comment. "I'm used to it. But I've been sitting here – awake most of the time, I'd just like to say – since you got here, so… Yeah, about twelve hours."

Adam's eyes are still only half-opened, but at those last words they're widened, and his dry mouth gapes before he remains control and closes it.

"Twelve… But… Jesus, man… You didn't have to… Aren't you a surgeon? I can't even be your patient, right?

Lawrence smiles again before he hides a yawn in his hand.

"Yeah, I'm a surgeon. And I'm off today, actually, but… I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Adam lowers his eyes and fidgets with the edge of his blanket.

Twelve hours. He thought Lawrence had forgotten he existed at all, but no. He'd sat on his bedside, voluntarily spent his precious free time just to watch him sleep.

How do you say thank you for something like that?

"I…" Adam starts and chuckles nervously. "Jeez… I don't even know what to say…"

Lawrence chuckles, too.

"Don't say anything that you didn't think through. I might sneak poison into your IV."

It isn't his kind of humor, but Adam's nervous chuckle turnes into a natural, high laugh. For the first time.

In a whole year.

"No, seriously, don't talk," Lawrence says after smiling sleepily at his own joke. "Get some more sleep instead, it's almost 3:00 AM. And now, when I know you're okay, _I_ might even get some sleep."

Adam needs no convincing. His eyelids slide shut before Lawrence finishes the sentence.

Their encounter was cut short. Too many things are still unsaid.

There are still too many things Adam doesn't know as he sleeps on, soundly and without dreams.

But he will find out about most of them eventually.

Sooner or later, a doctor will tell him what he already knew: He's anorexic.

Sooner or later he will be told that if this doesn't get away, he will die.

But there's one thing Adam will never know, something that actually no one will ever know, except for Lawrence himself, and that is what happens in Adam's room after he's fallen asleep.

Adam will never know that Lawrence doesn't fall asleep after Adam does, even though he's so tired he's almost hallucinating, but sits and watches his friend while he's sleeping, watches his thin chest rise and fall.

That is a secret Lawrence will carry until his death.

**Okay, there it is! Oh, and I'm in a shitty place while I'm writing this. Reviews make me happier than ever! **


	5. Take A Look At Yourself

**A/N: Okay, beloved read****ers, we have a new chapter! I don't know how good it is, I was sort of half-conscious when I wrote it, but… Hate it or love it! And sorry for the long update, but I've been sick and stuff… **

**4: Take A Look At Yourself **

When Adam wakes up the next morning, the first thing he notices is that the pain is gone.

The second thing he notices is that Lawrence is still next to him, his head resting in his hand and his eyes closed. Now, when he knows Adam is okay, he seems to think it's okay to fall asleep, and Adam thinks with a small smile that he really has earned it.

_Now, when I know you're okay, I might even get some sleep… _

Lawrence really looks awful. His hair is a messy, blond mass, and Adam can see a hint of stubble on his face like a shadow. But then again, he probably doesn't look that much better himself. He's probably a little skinnier and paler, even.

At that though, Adam gets a whim to do something he hasn't wanted to do for almost two years: See how he looks.

_What do voyeurs see when they look in the mirror? _

Adam glances over at Lawrence to make sure he's really asleep before he sweeps the blanket off himself, and inhales deeply before he looks down on his body.

_To that I have an answer, my dear Jigsaw, _he thinks as he exhales. _Voyeurs don't see anything when they look in the mirror, because we don't look into mirrors at all. We watch, we see outwards, we look at other people as much as we can. Just to get away from looking at ourselves. _

He's wearing a hospital gown. This should mean that someone has taken his clothes off, and someone seeing him naked is the last thing Adam wants, but it's also the last thing he's concerned about when he sees the dreadful sight of… Himself.

He's always known he's skinny.

But… Not _this _skinny.

This… This isn't the body of a strong person, a person that's consequent and able to resist such a strong temptation as hunger.

His body is a bag made of skin, containing bones.

He's never been the muscular type, but this… It's wicked. There's no better way to put it.

He looks like a skeleton. He doesn't have a human body anymore, he has the body of a fragile, newborn little bird, which trembles and shivers and that you can't touch, because then it will decompose and turn into dust.

Adam puts a hand over his mouth and quickly wraps the blanket around himself.

God, he's almost crying. Because he's so terribly disappointed.

_It wasn't supposed to be this way. _

He stopped eating because he _didn't _want to look like this. He stopped eating because he wanted to be independent.

Hell, he was more independent when he ate! When he ate, he could defend himself, he didn't need anyone to carry him to the hospital, he didn't pass out when he went to the store!

His body was more durable, too. He wasn't cold all the time, he didn't feel nauseous whenever he ate, he wasn't lying in bed at night, squirming in pain. He didn't look like a skeleton, he didn't wince when someone touched him.

_And who, exactly, are you saying has touched you this last year, Adam? _The cold voice in his head says. _No one. No one would want to touch you, you little filth. The last one who touched you was Lawrence, and he just did it because if he sees someone getting a concussion and doesn't do anything, he breaks his hypocritical oath. And that's the only reason. _

Adam nods.

The voice is brutal. But it's right.

_By the way, speaking of you being a filth, _the voice continues with an evil smile in the corners of its mouth. _Have you thought about why you're not in pain anymore? Why you feel alright for a change? _

"Because Lawrence is here?" Adam replies in a half-hearted whisper.

_Idiot. When was the last time you felt fine? When was the last time you didn't feel nauseous and dizzy?_

"Fuck…" Adam mumbles and rakes his fingers through his hair. "I don't remember! When I made it out of the bathroom? When is was in the hospital afterwards?"

_No, then you felt like shit. You'd been shot in the shoulder, remember? The last time you felt fine was two years ago, when Alexa made you go to McDonald's. When you ate. _

Alexa. Right.

Alexa was Adam's last girlfriend. The feminist vegan. And she actually had brought him to McDonald's to celebrate their three-month-anniversary.

Then, he really had felt okay. Adam remembers that, even in his newly-awaken condition.

Alexa had been smiling, and she'd just had a French fries herself, because almost all of the other food had meat in it. Plus, she had mostly brought him because _he_ would eat, since he'd gotten so scrawny lately, according to her.

Alexa had been smiling, it had smelled of greasy hamburgers, the October wind had swooshed around outside. He remembers that.

He remembers the taste if Big Mac in his mouth.

Yes. He'd been feeling alright that day.

"Fine," he says insecurely and huddles up under his blanket. "The last time I felt fine was when I ate. That pretty much makes sense, don't you think? I don't get what your life-changing point is."

_You really are stupid. The last time you felt fine was when you'd eaten, and now you feel fine, too. What does that tell you, Adam?_

And finally, slowly, Adam manages to make a connection with his malnourished brain.

The last time he felt fine, he had eaten.

And now he felt fine.

So now, he must've been…

White flashes of panic breaks out in his head.

He must have eaten.

It isn't until now he sees the IV-bag that hags on a metal device next to his bed, sees the tube that runs from it and into his arm.

Adam knows it's ridiculous, but a sob rises from his throat. Because he gets such a terrible mental image from that bag.

In his mind, he sees how the seeing-through liquid in the bag floats through the tube, under his skin, forces its way into his blood and circulates with it, circulates through his body, lands in his stomach, makes him swell up.

Adam squeezes his lips together to keep more audible sobs to escape from inside of his mouth. My god, does he have to be such a girl?

With trembling fingers he grabs the IV-tube and pulls it out of his arm. He cringes when the needle disappears from his flesh. One single drop of blood comes from the small wound, but it's okay. The IV is gone. He's not weak. He gets by without food.

Transparent liquid drips from the needle that hangs in the air, but that's okay, too. He'd rather see that god damn stuff on the floor that inside of him.

Adam smiles, relieved, and wipe the blood away from his arm with his finger. God, he gets happy over strange things.

It's hard to tell if it's from Adam's confused talking to his ego, or of it's from the weak, plopping sound from when the drops of IV-water hits the floor, but suddenly, Lawrence startles and lifts his head from his hand. Adam sends him a quick look, and a sting of nervousness shines through the tiredness and the fear. He doesn't want Lawrence to see that the needle that's supposed to be in his arm dangles in the air instead, but on some level, he knows it's unavoidable.

"Morning," Lawrence says and stretches himself. "Jesus…"

Adam smiles weakly. It seems like no matter how nervous or frightened he is, Lawrence can always sooth him.

"How are you?" He asks and glances over at the machine that checks Adam's vitals. "Still malnourished?"

Adam shrugs.

"My doctor's supposed to know, not me. Do I have one of those, by the way? Or have you been sitting here for half a day because no one else has the balls to check my vitals?"

Lawrence scoffs.

"Believe me, young man, your vitals are feared all over the hospital. But yeah, you have a doctor. She should be here any minute now."

Now, Adam panics again. Not even Lawrence, with his calm, sleepy smile can change that.

"But I don't need a doctor," he says.

He hears that he sounds a little too scared, and that he says it a little too quickly. But now it's too late, and Lawrence has already heard the tone in his voice and watches him with a frown.

"Of course you need a doctor. You passed out, you're malnourished, you have a low blood level and a whole lot of other things that's wrong with you, and that could really be fixed if you just took a little better care of yourself."

"Exactly," Adam says with an innocent smile. "I can take care of myself. And I will, I promise. But I don't need a doctor. You can just discharge me, an I'll live happily ever after."

_Are you lying to Lawrence? _The cold voice says. _Are you lying to the man you owe your life to?_

Adam doesn't listen. He should be honest, he owe Lawrence that much, and he knows he won't do better at all when he gets back home, but he can't be honest. Not right now.

He's been honest to himself for the first time in twenty years. To be honest to other people will be the next step, and he can't take it yet.

Lawrence looks at him, suspiciously.

"Okay," he says finally, and his disbelief stands out from the words. "You can go home."

Adam responds his suspicious eyes with an equally suspicious. There should be a 'but', it always does when you end a sentence with that voice. But Lawrence doesn't say anything else, he just picks up the chart that hangs from the foot of Adam's bed and fills something in with his black pen.

"It seems like…" Lawrence begins, does a little pause and stars again: "…You don't have to fill out some papers, since you haven been here less then a week."

Adam waits patiently.

"But," Lawrence then says, and Adam silently thanks the almighty gods for that he still has his pessimistic ability to read people's minds. "I _will_ call you tomorrow, and if you don't answer, I will find out where you live, get there and beat you down with a bat."

Adam cracks up. Lawrence smiles briefly and hooks the chart to the bed again.

But then he looks up, and since Adam still looks at him, they actually get eye contact, for the first time since Lawrence laid his hand on Adam's cheek and said that he'd just wounded his shoulder.

It only lasts for a second.

But during that second, Adam manages to think a row of thoughts that honestly would've scared him to death if he'd just caught them.

But during this second of eye contact, Adam thinks that he doesn't want to go home, he wants to stay here at the hospital, he'll sleep on the blue couch that stands in line with the wall, he'll sleep on the _floor _if he has to. He'll sleep anywhere, as long as he can stay close to Lawrence.

But those thoughts only last for a second.

He doesn't even realize that he's thinking them.

**I'm a boring rambler, I know. But trust me, things will heat up. As long as you review… **


	6. I Have A Family, Too

**A/N: Another chapter I just had to get out of my system… In which we learn some of Adam's back-story. Enjoy!**

**5: I Have A Family, Too **

Adam yawns and slams the door shut behind him. It's a miracle how he can feel this tired after being knocked out for twelve hours, but he does.

_Because you're anorexic. _

Adam sighs and shakes his head. He doesn't even think about the fact that he locks the door as soon as it's shut, even less about the fact that he does it a little too quick and a little too desperate for it to be seen as normal.

He hasn't been thinking about any of this. He barely knows how paranoid he is. If you asked him if he'd been picky about keeping the door locked since he got out of the bathroom, he would probably scratch his already ruffled hair, make a face and shrug. His paranoia has become subconscious, his alter ego in a weird way.

"We've been through this," Adam responds as he walks up to the TV and turns it on.

He's not even fully aware of this, either. He's not aware of the fact that his apartment neither has been completely dark, nor completely quiet during this last year.

Adam looks at his watch as he rubs one hand against his eye. Quarter to eight. He could fall asleep now, and it wouldn't be that abnormal. He wouldn't have to come up with excuses to himself.

It had been hard for Lawrence to let him go. Every time Adam had tried to get out, Lawrence had grabbed him by the arm and forced him to take another routine test. Just one, and then he could go. Adam smiles weakly at the memory.

He's not used to being treated this way. Like he's valuable, like he actually matters. Even when he was little, he usually had to find a band-aid himself to put on his scrapes, or, when he got old enough to start drunken fights, knife-stabs. When he still was in the scrape-stadium, his brother usually could help him with stuff like that, since they both quickly learned that it was pointless to ask their mom about it.

Adam feels how the hand that's resting against his eye involuntarily turns into a fist in a sudden anger over someone he still doesn't see anymore.

Because he suddenly remembers the pain. Before.

He doesn't remember the pain from the bullet in his shoulder, and that's the first time in a long time. Instead, he remembers the pain from the rusty nail in his upper arm, and he remembers the blood that poured and he remember how he pushed his tiny, six year old fingers against the throbbing wound in an attempt to stop it, and he remembers how his mom was lying on the couch and barely looked up when Adam tottered in with his brother's arm around his shoulders.

"_Mom… Scott…_ _He…" _

He remembers how Jerry cut him off.

"_Mom, Adam has to get to a hospital." _

These words. These desperate words from a nine-year-old, said on the brink of tears. And the person they were said to hardly noticed them.

He remembers how his mother glanced over at them halfheartedly, and he remembers how she answered mumbling, since she probably _almost _saw them through the fog of anti-depressants.

"_It'll pass, Adam… There's bandages on top of the fridge…"_

It's strange how mad you can get at someone you haven't met in ten years. Adam mumbles something to himself and touches the faded scar on his arm, subconsciously.

He pretends not to notice the scar on his shoulder.

Suddenly, a wind whistles against his window, and Adam jumps more than he wants to acknowledge and removes the hand from his eye.

Now, it's there again. That childish fear, the fear that lingers from the bathroom, that fear that something, not someone, is luring in the darkness, Jigsaw with a saw or just a nameless creature that still is the object of his darkest nightmares, is going to hop out of nowhere and crush his head between its hands.

Adam remains this way. He's absolutely still, barely breathes, for almost five minutes, before he exhales.

The apartment is empty. No one is here. No one is going to hurt him.

_Newsflash, _the voice in his head says dryly. _What were you expecting, the bogeyman? _

_Yeah, _Adam says. _The bogeyman. Or Jigsaw, or… Something. _

No one is in the apartment but him. No one can hurt him, but that also means that no one can protect him.

No one can protect the frightened little boy that Adam suddenly has turned into.

Adam lays down on the couch. The only good thing about being little that he can think of right now is that he actually had someone to protect him. He had someone to keep him busy, someone to keep his mind off his pale, drugged-up mom that was in a heap on the couch.

Adam sighs and puts his hands over his eyes again.

_Jerry… _

But that's all he manages to think before he pushes the thoughts away.

His big brother is his food. It took him ten years to erase all the memories of him, and just like food those memories is a luxury he won't give himself. But sometimes it's unavoidable.

Adam takes the hands away from his eyes and tries to focus on the TV. He doesn't allow himself to think that if he would let his guard down, just for a second, Lawrence could be Jerry in another form.

It doesn't take him long to fall asleep.

The small amount of nourishment that the IV managed to give him also gives him the opportunity to sleep all night.

He doesn't have to writhe in pain.

xxxxxxxxxxx

A knocking on the door wakes Adam up. The TV is still on, the mere sight of it gives him a headache.

No one has knocked on that door within the last year. And it takes a while for Adam's freshly-awaken brain to locate its memories.

_I _will _call you tomorrow, and if you __don't answer, I will find out where you live, get there and beat you down with a bat. _

Lawrence.

Adam rubbs the sleepiness out of his eyes and stumbles to his feet. Lawrence…

Not even he, who's so ridiculously paranoid, looks in the peephole. He knows who will be standing there.

Oh, yes. Lawrence is outside the door, and the dark marks under his eyes send Adams the message that he's been on call. And Lawrence's almost frightened look tells a lot about how Adam looks himself.

Neither one of them says something for a few seconds. Adam shrugs at Lawrence's frown.

"You can tell me I look like shit," he mumbles and leans against the doorpost.

"You… Don't," Lawrence says and scans over Adam's body with a skeptical gaze, and Adam crosses his arms over his stomach out of reflex.

He doesn't like it when people look at him like that. Actually, he doesn't like it when people look at him at all these days.

"Although…" Lawrence continues and seems to scramble for a reasonable way to express himself. "Jesus, Adam, do you have any fat on you whatsoever?"

Adam blushes briefly. Luckily, his brain, even when it's only half-awake, is always aiming for sarcasms.

"This is why I wanted you to call," he says and takes his arm down from the doorpost. "Are you coming in, or what?"

**Two cuties in an empty apartment… Things can get nutty! As long as you review, I mean. (I know I said that in the last chapter, but I am a blackmailer, heart and soul.) **


	7. Shaken Foundation

**A/N: What can I say? I am so, so, so, so sorry for the long update, but I blame school! BURN YOUR HOMEWORK WITH ME, MY DARLINGS! Hehe. Anyway, read on! **

**6: Shaken Foundation **

"So," Lawrence says uncertainly and walks in the door. "How are you?"

Adam closes the door behind him, and once again, he locks it quickly. Too quickly. And Lawrence's eyes, who after years of studying medicine and watching patients in shock, are very good at catching nervous habits like this, see it immediately. But he doesn't question it. He knows better than that, even though he hasn't seen Adam for a year.

"I'm fine," Adam says and rakes his hand through his hair, because he does that every time he lies. "But I think you drugged me with something when I was there."

"Morphine," Lawrence says with a grin. "Your nurse had a crush on you, and since she'd never like you when you were conscious, I felt it was my obligation to knock you out."

"Because I'd never get laid if you didn't," Adam fills in with a sleepy smile. "Thanks, man."

Lawrence laughs.

Yes. Why wouldn't he laugh? It's a joke, this is how guys joke with each other. They come down on one another and then they laugh about it and hit each other on the shoulder. Because they're not serious.

Adam knows Lawrence doesn't mean anything by it. He's not mean. He would never nay something like that and actually mean it, not for no reason, especially not to anyone who looks as bad as Adam.

The doctor in Lawrence is raised to treat everyone like Adam, all the thin, fragile, skeleton-like people with dark circles under their eyes as gently as possible. And that doctor would never say something like that in a serious matter.

But Adam can't keep a faint sting of hurt from running through his heart when he hears Lawrence say that.

"But seriously," Lawrence says. "Are you okay? Because… I really found you as a wreck."

"Thanks a lot," Adam repeats and smiles bitterly. "Wasn't that what you just said I _didn't _look like?"

But in the same time, he knows he can't look like anything else. How could someone like him look like through someone like Lawrence's eyes, if not like a wreck? Lawrence is a rich doctor, he's one of those guys that save lives every day, one of those guys that have prizes on their walls. And Adam finally knows what he is, himself. He's seen himself the day before.

Now he knows that what he's done for so long to make himself stronger has only made him weaker. That the wonderfully burning hunger has turned him into a bird, a fragile, boney little bird that hasn't learned how to fly.

"No, no," Lawrence says and takes a quick, subconscious step against Adam. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that… You're so… Thin… I mean, the last time I saw you, you looked like you barely ate at all, and now, you seem to have dropped even more weight."

Adam's blood suddenly runs cold with terror.

Lawrence can't find out.

He doesn't usually tiptoes around his refusal to eat. Not that anyone is ever around to ask him about it, but he loves the idea of the world finding out how strong he is, how consequent he can be, but Lawrence can't find out. For some reason it's very, very important to him that Lawrence doesn't find out about how long it's been since he actually sat down and ate a whole meal. The last time probably was that time with Alexa…

He knows that Lawrence, both as a doctor and a thoughtful person, will try to help him, and no way he's going to a fucking therapist.

Plus, he knows that if he had to see Lawrence's face when he told him that he lives on a slice of bread a day, he would also have to face the fact that he has a problem. Because he does, he knows that. But he will deny it to the last, and not even Lawrence, that stands in front of him with a small smile and a poorly hidden concern in his eyes, can change that.

Adam shrugs in a way he hopes is casual.

"It's nothing big," he says. "Lately, I've been smoking more than I did before… I met you."

Shit. He almost said it.

_Before the bathroom. _

He can't say that. Can't, can't, can't say that. That, too, would be admitting that there was a problem. That the bathroom was a problem, and this fucking hell that settled in his apartment after that is a problem.

"Nicotine, you know," Adam says and tries to sound like he's joking. "Brings down your apatite like a living hell. Wonderful little drug."

Lawrence shakes his head, and he looks at Adam like he probably looks at Diana, and I would normally drive Adam crazy, but now it makes him, in a weird, warm, sedating way, feel loved.

Now. Stop. Stop it.

Not get depending. Not loved, not weak.

"So the only thing you lived on this past year is tobacco?" Lawrence says and sighs theatrically. "No wonder you look the way you do. Don't you have anyone to look after you here? No family, or a girlfriend, maybe?"

Adam feels how he involuntarily blushes.

He can't say he's been thinking of a man ever since… That. Of how a man, _this _man, would react to his way of living. Even if he really hasn't thought of Lawrence in a romantic way, he'd prefer not to admit that he's been thinking of him at all. For fucks sake, he can barely admit it to himself, how could he ever do it to Lawrence?

He mumbles something under his breath.

Not blush. Look him in the eye. Steady gaze.

"Girls have their profits, but… You know…" Adam says. "But they don't really think I'm the guy to give them an exciting life full of adventures and passion, so…"

His voice fades out, but it doesn't take him long to find it again.

"What about you? How's… Allison?"

Lawrence face, that's been relaxed and smiling, as if he's really talking to an old friend, suddenly drops a bit. But it seems like he, too, wants to keep his little mask up.

"We've got divorced, actually," he then says, still pretty casually, and Adam can't keep his eyes from widening.

"But…" He says and takes a step towards Lawrence without being aware of it. "How… How could that happen? You sawed your foot off for her!"

Adam doesn't even notice that he's brought _it _up. _It _that he hasn't been able to talk about to his inner voice, even. He's busy listening, busy talking to someone beside himself for the first time in forever, despite the fact that the talking contains a subject he wants to avoid more than anything.

Lawrence chuckles, and it actually seems to be honestly.

"Yeah, I know, but… That's in the past, I'm afraid. She didn't really think I changed after I got out of there, so she married… Someone. I don't remember his name, I was pretty pissed off when she said it."

Adam smiles back at him, uncertain of what else to do. After a few seconds, he put it all in one card and places a hand on Lawrence's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he means it. "I really am. God, I didn't expect… You can still see Diana, though, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Lawrence says and his smile gets a little wider when he feels the hand on his shoulder. "She didn't really dare to say anything else. She was the one who had an affair, after all, so the unwritten laws on divorces says she has to agree to anything I say. And that's lucky, God knows what she'd do to me otherwise."

Adam cracks up. Even Lawrence manages to laugh with him, until he turns serious on a dime and fixes Adam with his eyes.

"But I've been worrying about you, Adam."

And Adam's whole world gets paralyzed.

The traffic stops outside.

The picture on the TV-screen freezes.

The sunlight stiffens into a pillar of glow.

Everything that exists, everything that's alive, is he and Lawrence, no, not even he, he's never existed and never meant anything, and he sure as hell better be careful of thinking otherwise, the voice in his head has so successfully convinced him about that.

Everything that exists is Lawrence, his eyes, his sincere face, his words that hang between them like the scent of a perfume.

_I've been worrying about you, Adam. _

Lawrence has been worrying about him.

Lawrence has been thinking of him. Lawrence has an important job and a daughter. But he actually has taken some time out of his life to think about Adam. To care about him.

Adam is important to another human being.

Adam is important to a person, and it's not any person, it's Lawrence, and it's the memory of Lawrence that has helped Adam to survive this past year. He would never admit it to himself, but it's the truth. It's Lawrence's voice in his head that's made him force himself to eat that slice of bread every day, and it's that slice of bread that has gotten him through the day.

Adam is important to Lawrence.

And that, just these words, can make all the walls, all the thick layers of amour that Adam hides behind and that has taken him half his life to build, crumble. They can show Lawrence the real Adam that huddles there, the Adam that Adam hides behind his sarcasms, his independent words.

And it scares Adam to death. It scares him to death and almost makes him cry with joy in the same time.

"You have?" He says sheepishly and quickly takes his hand off Lawrence's shoulder. "You… You don't have to be. I mean, I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Lawrence says with a small smile. "But I'm a doctor, remember?"

Adam smiles back, insecurely, still terrified, and not sure about what else to do. Lawrence clears his throat.

"Well," he says hesitatingly. "I've got to go now, actually, but may I call you? Not as a doctor, just like a recently divorced forty year-old that needs some entertaining? So we can get together?"

_No, _the voice says. _No way. You know what'll happen then, Adam. You know you're weak, so you start to depend on people. Relay on them. And you don't want what happened with Jerry to happen again, do you? _

No, he doesn't. And Adam's going to say no, but his mouth doesn't agree, and suddenly, the door shuts behind Lawrence, and Adam stays behind, alone with the feeling of being opened up.

_Fourteen years, _he thinks angrily and swallows a sob. _Fourteen years. Fourteen years, and it was so awfully close that they went to waste. For Lawrence. _

The tears rise in his eyes, fresh and burning, and Adam does what he always does: He gets into the shower and lets the hot water burn away the memories of another person's closure.

Lets the tears mix with the shower water, so he can pretend they're not there.

**I know I implied smut in the last chapter… But you can't rush art! Once again, I'm sorry for the long update! I'll try to be faster with the next one, but please review! That's what makes the writing worth it! **


	8. Moment Of Truth

**A/N: My God… Once again, I'm sorry ****for the long update, you guys, but it seems like I have less and less time these days… And I thought I'd update my other A/L-fic first, but I just had to get this damn thing out of my head… Anyway, I had a little time-jump here, and I hope you can forgive me for that, but I got anxious for some good stuff… (Wink wink)**

**Disclaimer: Saw still isn't mine, and the song Belinda isn't either… It's a cruel world…**

**7: Moment Of Truth**

It's a wonder how time can pass.

That's something that almost scares Adam during the following three months.

For him, time has always dragged itself forward, it has never been very enjoyable, and sometimes when he looks at his watch, he can almost think that gum must've gotten stuck in the clockwork, or he puts his ear to the tiny window of the watch to make sure that it doesn't need new batteries, and it has always scared him.

He knows that time flies when you have fun.

And had he really been so bored that time, in a weird way, seemed to walk around in circles?

The answer is yes.

But now, Adam is scared again. And it's for the exact opposite reason to before.

Time goes so fast. Or no, time passes by just as slowly as it did before. But only when he's alone.

When he's with Lawrence, hour by hour can sneak past him, and he never thinks of it. Lawrence's smile, his blue eyes, his blond hair, absorbs time like a sponge, and Adam happily accepts it.

That's what scares him.

He starts to feel the demands. The demands from himself. The dependency.

He starts to… Lean on Lawrence. When people ask how he is, he usually shrugs and says that he guesses he's fine, even though his entire soul is screeching: _I feel like crap, I feel awful, I'm so lonely, so lonely, I want someone, I _crave _someone!_

But when Lawrence enters his apartment and asks him how he feels, he can, very occasionally, say that he doesn't feel that well. And then, Lawrence asks what it is. If there's anything he can do. And… And Adam talks to him.

Not about food. And not about Jerry. But about other things.

About the fear of darkness. About the nightmares. About the days when he comes home and is afraid that anything from the bogeyman to Jigsaw hides under his bed.

He can even talk about his mom. About how he came home with blood gushing from the nail wound in his arm and how she said something random about band-aids.

But that's not common. And even when that is, he never talks about the hand on his shoulder, about who said that he needed to go to a hospital. About who was there for him, all the time, always, before…

And so, time passes.

Lawrence and Adam are friends. They really are. They see each other almost every other day, either in Lawrence's small apartment, where Diana is sometimes, and her eyes sparkle when she sees Adam, since she knows that it's he who helped Lawrence to get away from the bad man. And either in Adam's apartment, who's even smaller, where Lawrence scans over the wallpapers, that have turned from white to yellow from all the smoke, with a frown, where after Adam drops some sarcastic comment about that Lawrence looks like his mom. Or they meet at a movie theater, a restaurant or a bar. Anywhere. But they're always together, and they love it.

xxxxxxxxxxx

But one night…

It's a cliché. But one night, everything changes.

Up until now, this has looked like a normal Friday night to Adam and Lawrence now days. Lawrence has come to Adam's apartment, and he's brought two pizza boxes, Adam has faked a smile, even though his screaming stomach turned as soon as the smell of the dripping, oily food reached his nose. They have jumped between the channels on the TV and mocked all the crappy family shows, and they have accidentally stumbled over a porno movie, and when Lawrence saw one of the beautiful, blonde girls moan and squirm, he said that it's been years since he made Allison make sounds like that, Adam has replied that he's fully convinced of that.

When Lawrence has shot Adam a venomous gaze, and Adam has grinned at him, Lawrence opens his mouth again.

"I should turn gay," he says matter-of-factly, and Adam does an exaggerated shocked face.

"What's with he sudden realization?" Adam asks with a chuckle and switch channel again.

"I don't know," Lawrence says and throws out his hand. "But women don't want rejected forty year-olds."

Adam scoffs.

"And guys do?"

And then, Lawrence turns to Adam, pierces his eyes, who are black, shiny lids over a sea of boiling emotions, with his blue orbs, stares into his soul, sees his weakness.

"Do they?" He asks? Quietly, softly, whispering, caressing words.

And the moment after that. One single moment where neither Adam nor Lawrence has a mask to hide behind. When they both can see right into each other. See each other's longing, each other's worries, each other's desire, and everything else that they really have seen ever since Adam woke up at the hospital, but that they haven't wanted to see.

Adam doesn't just get nervous. He gets terrified. The mask needs to get back on. Quickly. Lawrence can't see who he really is, who he really wants to be, who he really _wants_.

"Could you help me clean up?" He mumbles insecurely and beckons to the greasy pizza boxes on the coffee table in front of them.

"Sure," Lawrence says, takes the remote from Adam's hand and switches off the TV. But when he sees Adam's pizza, he suddenly stops in his tracks and sends Adam a correcting look.

"Adam, you've barely eaten."

"Oh, relax," Adam says and tries to sound casual, even though a panic rises up in him like icy water. "I… I wasn't that hungry."

"Okay," Lawrence says hesitatingly.

He believes Adam. For now, at least.

They both get up, pick up a box, accidentally bump into each other, blush briefly, and a hot jolt runs through Adam, and he feels like he's on a first date without really wanting it.

They walk to the kitchen, side by side. When they're at the counter, Adam folds his box up to fit it into the trash can, and a sound reaches his ears.

It's a voice, low and vibrating, humming, sends waves along his body with its playing notes.

Lawrence. He's singing. He sings a song that Adam has never heard, and that he doesn't like, wouldn't like if he heard it on the radio, but that now floats through his brain, drugs him up, clouds his vision.

"_I know you're as strong as any human can be_

_but you need love, why don't you take it from me_

_I know I'm not much, but you can have me for free…" _

Adam smiles weakly.

"Whoa," he says quietly before he turns to Lawrence. "Gordon, you got voice."

"Thank you," Lawrence says and smiles back. "But all credits for the song goes to Roy Orbison."

Adam opens the door under the counter and puts the pizza box in the trashcan. But Lawrence still leans on the sink. He seems to ponder over something.

"I know you're as strong as any human can be, but you need love, why don't you take it from me," he repeats slowly.

Adam straightens up and tries to look Lawrence in the eye, but as soon as he catches a glimpse of that wonderfully disgusting shade of blue, his gaze jumps down to the floor.

"It reminds me of you, Adam," Lawrence says quietly.

And he puts two fingers under Adam's chin. Forces him to meet his eyes.

And there's another one of those moments.

Adam is completely naked.

Figuratively, that is. He's got nothing to hide behind. All his disguises, all his resistances melt away, melt under Lawrence's friendly expression, and he panics again, such a wonderful panic, and he wants more, more panic, more friendly eyes, more Lawrence, more…

"You… Should go."

The words leave his mouth before he realizes that he's thinking them. And Lawrence nods.

"Can I come by tomorrow? I have an early shift, I think I can be here by… Five?"

Adam nods, too. Sure. Lawrence can come. Give him some more panic. Wonderful panic.

And now, the panics once again. Because Lawrence puts both arms around his shoulders and pulls him into a hug.

And nothing is, or will be, like it was before.

They have hugged before. They have hugged like guys do, halfheartedly and boy-ish, hit each other on the shoulder like guys do, both when they hug and when they joke. It's a move for every occasion.

But this isn't two friends saying goodbye.

This is Lawrence's chest against Adam's, Lawrence's stomach against Adam's, Lawrence's thighs against Adam's, Lawrence's breath in Adam's hair, Adam's lips almost against Lawrence's neck. Almost.

It's over way too quickly. Lawrence lets go of Adam, says goodbye and leaves. And Adam is left alone.

He wraps his arms around himself in a vain, childish attempt to keep Lawrence's warmth with him.

He hasn't felt the heat of another person in so long.

He hasn't even felt the heat of _himself _in forever.

He's been cold… For almost all if his life.

But now, he's been warm. For a few seconds, he got to be warm.

But the warmth fades away. Adam tightens his grip on himself, but the warmth disappears, seeps between the fibers in the fabric of his shirt, like water runs off him after a shower.

He wants more. Needs more.

So Adam only hesitates for a second before he opens the door under the counter again and picks out the trashcan.

_What are you doing?_ The voice in his head says.

For once, Adam doesn't answer. Instead, he lifts the can over his head and flips it upside down. The pizza carton from before, old, half-smoked cigarettes, wrinkled magazines and empty soda cans falls down in a pile over his feet, but he doesn't care. He only cares about one thing right now.

_It has to be somewhere…_

Yes. Here it is. It has turned into a ball and the colors have faded, but it's here. One of the pictures he took of Lawrence.

Adam breathes heavily, his fingers are stiff and harsh when he flattens it out on the floor before he picks it up, walks out to the living room and sits down on the couch.

He stares at the picture. The two-dimensional Lawrence looks back at him.

And Adam feels something.

It isn't the mechanical arousal he gets from watching porn when he's got nothing else to do, like he did with Lawrence before. It's real.

Adam doesn't know how long he looks at the picture with a gaze that's black with dark, shameful lust, and he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything anymore.

He doesn't know how long it takes for him to put the picture aside and bring his hand down to the almost pain of his erection under his jeans.

_You have no idea what the fuck you're doing, _the voice says.

It sounds desperate.

_No, _Adam responds and unzips his fly._ I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing._

All the doubts go away as he forces his hands into his boxers.

It doesn't make sense.

But now days, nothing else does, either.

**It's a miracle how ratings can jump, huh? Anyway, REVIEW, and I'll love you forever! **


	9. A Human Reaction

**A/N: ****YIKES! Long chapter! I hope I'm not boring. But you all love me too much to get bored by me, don't you? Anyway, I want to thank all of my beloved reviewers thus far… You guys rock! And now, READ it, and hate it or love it!**

**8: A Human Reaction**

Jesus Christ.

It's not supposed be this way, right? The only real friend Adam has ever had was… Well, Jerry. And when he knew that he'd meet Jerry somewhere, he was excited, he was eager, and he knew that he'd at least have _some _fun tonight. But he still was… Relaxed.

He wasn't like this.

Adam hasn't been able to sit down for the past two hours.

It's a physical impossibility. He hasn't even been able to stand still, he's been pacing around in his apartment, he's fidgeted with his photos, he's opened the bathroom door and then closed it for no real reason at all, and he's been this way for the whole day. Because he's so _fucking _nervous, and he has no idea why.

_You know very well why you're nervous, Adam. _

Adam grunts something for an answer and makes another attempt to sit down on the couch, but his feet force him up again before he even manages to lean back.

_You said it yourself. You're not supposed to be like this when you meet a friend. And Lawrence is still your _best _friend. No, he's not even that. He's your _only _friend. _

"Shut up," Adam mutters and walks up to the TV, lays his hand on it and lifts it up again.

He's always been restless. That's just who he is. But never like this.

What the hell is Lawrence doing to him?

He can't sleep, can't sit down, he's actually _tried _to eat earlier, he'd _wanted _to eat for the first time in almost two years, but he couldn't. It just made him nauseous, his stomach turned, the nervousness slid over it and squeezed his abdomen with its cold fingers.

_Exactly, _the voice says matter-of-factly. _If he were _just _your friend, this would feel natural. It's not like it's the first time he comes here, you guys have been here almost every other day for the past three months. That is, of course, something else that you've chosen to ignore, isn't it? That you're almost always here, since he doesn't want you to meet his daughter? Since he knows that you _want _this, and he doesn't want her to know that daddy is gay?_

"Sure," Adam says and walks up to his desk, glances over at the last pictures he took. "I'm gay. I'm gay, I'm anorexic, I am whatever the hell you want me to be. As long as you shut up and leave me alone."

His gaze stays at the pictures as the information he got about his photo object runs through his worn brain.

Sarah Richards. Twenty-eight years old. Lives on top of a Starbuck's, buys lunch there every day. Suspected for drug dealing. Adam was hired by a cop to look up the whole thing more carefully.

Adam picks up one of the photographs and stares at it with furrowed brows. Sarah Richards opens the door to Starbuck's. She's on her way out, onto the street.

The gust of wind from a passing truck tears her hair and her clothes. Her hair is already ruffled and her makeup is sloppy, because if Adam recalls correctly, she overslept that morning and missed her usual bus, and she looks newly awakened and pale and beautiful.

Yes. She's Sarah Richards, she really is beautiful, Adam has a picture of her, he's home alone and he hasn't had sex in almost a year and a half.

Why can't he jack off to this picture instead?

Why doesn't he feel a damn thing when he looks at this woman, even though the feelings, the shame, the arousal roared in his stomach by looking at a picture of Lawrence?

_You know that, too, Adam, _the voice says wearily. _You know that, you silly little boy. You can't get turned on by Sarah Richards because she doesn't know who you are, she doesn't treat you like a person, she doesn't support you and doesn't listen to you, she doesn't treat you like you actually matter. _

Yes. Adam knows that.

He also knows why he's afraid of Lawrence coming here.

He's afraid you can tell it by looking at him.

He's afraid that Lawrence, in some way, will find out what he did last night.

He's so afraid that he actually yelps weakly when he hears the buzzer a few feet away from him, but he still dares to walk up to the door and fumble the chain away with shaky fingers.

_God, _he thinks to himself. _Can't you even _pretend _to be normal? That this is just like any time he comes over? Because if you pretend, it might be that way. _

_Sure, _the voice scoffs as Adam opens the door.

And there is Lawrence.

Adam really is more shocked than he should be, but he always has been. In fact, every time he hears the buzzer, he gets surprised when he sees Lawrence outside the door, since in his head, it's always Jigsaw, always Jigsaw, that's how it always has been, that's how it always will be.

"Hi there," Lawrence says with a small smile.

Adam smiles back at him and rakes a hand through his hair.

"Hey. How's it going?"

"It's good," Lawrence says and walks past him into the apartment. "You almost get more tired in that damn hospital when you've got nothing to do than you do when it's hectic."

Adam can't stop smiling as he closes the door behind Lawrence. God, does he have to get so childishly happy? He almost prefers to be nervous if his only other option is to feel so safe, so calm, so… Depending.

"You got off earlier?"

"Yeah," Lawrence says and shrugs. "I actually had some more work there, but I dumped it off on my interns."

Adam laughs.

"They do anything for you, don't they?"

"They do," Lawrence says and smiles uncertainly. "And I wanted to see you, so I thought I'd give them some extra work."

"It's for their own good," Adam says sarcastically and walks into the living room.

"Exactly," Lawrence says. "How are you, by the way? You look pretty… Ragged."

_Of course I do, _Adam answers in his mind. _I haven't slept in fifty hours, and I haven't eaten in two years. And I know that if you knew this, you'd try to help me, you'd drag me to the hospital with a muzzle and handcuffs if you had to, because that's just who you are. But I can't let you do that, so of course I look ragged. _

"Thanks a lot," Adam says, out loud this time.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Lawrence says and takes a step towards Adam. "It's just that… Have you eaten today?"

And just like all the other times, all the way too many times when Lawrence's gentle voice has even brushed over Adam's eating habits, the blood freezes in his veins.

Lawrence can't find out.

Lawrence can't, can't, can't find out. He's a doctor. He wouldn't even feel sorry for Adam, he'd be… Disgusted.

And that's the last thing Adam wants. That's exactly why he doesn't eat.

He doesn't want to be disgusting. He doesn't want to be weak. He wants to be empty and clean, slim and strong.

"Yeah," Adam lies and rakes his hand through his hair again. "Or, I haven't had dinner yet, but I will… I'll do that… Soon."

Lawrence nods slowly. He's convincing in his role. Adam doesn't suspect at all that the words that slide through his brain are the exact same as they were a year ago:

_You're a terrible liar. _

"And you're sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Adam says and chuckles, unaware of the fact that he and Lawrence have moved a little closer to each other by every second since he entered the living room. "Was that why you came here, man? To check in on me?"

"No, no," Lawrence says quickly. "I just thought…"

One step closer.

"Because I can take care of myself," Adam says, and the words jump out of his mouth, he seems to say them as much to himself as to Lawrence.

Like he's trying to convince himself.

Still.

Another step.

"I'm a big boy," Adam continues. "And you have a job and a daughter and… I don't want to keep you from anything…"

"No, Adam," Lawrence says, and it isn't until now that he realizes how close to him Adam is, he can see his pupils flicker, his hands twitching nervously in his pockets.

He sees… His lips moving…

"I came here because I wanted to see you," Lawrence says and takes one step closer, he almost stands on Adam's toes by now, and he still doesn't stop. And neither does Adam. "And I… I care about you."

So close.

They're so close now.

Adam feels the scent of cologne from Lawrence's skin, the scent of starch from his shirt, his gaze jumps from his eyes to his lips, and he doesn't say anything else, words have deserted him, been pushed away by the closeness, by Lawrence, by the fact that Adam actually has someone that cares about him, and the sensible, pride part of Adam wishes him to stop what he knows will come any second, but that, too, is pushed away by his unhappy, lustful _craving _for Lawrence's face to move towards his own even faster.

And it does.

It comes.

A kiss.

Lawrence initiates the first one, and it's light, soft, gentle, mostly because the small part of his brain that still thinks like a smart, reasonable doctor is so unbelievably afraid that Adam will pull back.

But he barely manages to pull back himself before Adam pulls his hand out of his pocket, puts it on the back of his neck and pushes their faces together again, with force this time, their noses bump awkwardly into each other, but neither one of them notice as their breaths are mixed in a longing, waiting air stream and their mouths connect, Lawrence's tongue seeks its way out, looks for an entrance and Adam parts his lips and gives it to him, and their tongues meet, taste each other, mark their territory in every hidden space in the other's mouth.

Unfortunately, it has to end. Lawrence pulls back, since his normal thoughts start to get the best of him.

Adam blushes when their eyes meet.

"Um…" He says hesitatingly and pulls his hand off Lawrence's neck. "I…"

"Can I… Come by tomorrow?" Lawrence asks before Adam gets a chance to finish his sentence, and before he gets a chance to realize that he's asked the question.

Adam looks at him with wide eyes. This isn't really the reaction he expected. God, with the position Lawrence risks to lose just by being his friend, it's a miracle he hasn't punched him in the jaw…

"Yeah… Sure," he says slowly.

_Oh, Adam, you idiot, _the voice sighs. _Your walls are crumbling already, he already means too much to you, if he comes here tomorrow and you go even further… Hell, you _know _what will happen then!_

Yes. Adam knows that, too. And the part of him that the voice talks from, the wise part, hates him for even thinking about Lawrence during the year they didn't see each other. That part knows he runs a risk of getting hurt, that part thinks he should flee from Lawrence and never come back.

But the part of him that kissed Lawrence, that part that told him that he could come by tomorrow, is the part that doesn't have any pride. Or at least the part that has pride, but doesn't think it's that important. That's the part of him that has been without human contact for too long, the part that wants someone besides that _other _part of him to talk to.

And sometimes, Adam realizes as he sees Lawrence walk out the door, such simple wishes can overrule your senses.

**I'm actually writing this in the middle of a Writer's block, so I don't know… Well, review either way, pretty, pretty please! **


	10. Strike At A Weak Moment

**A/N: WHO-HOO! My darlings, with this chapter, this is the longest fanfic I've ever written… And with the reviews of young miss sarahmichelle.x, it's also the most reviewed one!****Thanks for that, fellow ChainShipper! And with the writing of young miss me, this is the first chapter with smut! So if you don't like that, go easy on the flames! And if you do… READ! **

**9. Strike At A Weak Moment**

If Adam was anxious yesterday, it's nothing next to how he is now.

The apartment is blurred in front of him, there's a fog over everything, and of course it is, of course that's what happens when you never eat and never sleep, but…

Adam walks back and forth in the living room. He looks like a restless animal in a too small cage, but that simile quickly goes away as he cups his hands over his nose and mouth for something that feels like the thousandth time this hour.

Okay. It's okay.

He has hands. He has a nose. He has a mouth.

He's human. He's still a human, even though the feelings in him, the raw, roaring emotions that tears through his body is the most animal things he's ever felt in his life.

He'd been a human up until now. And up until now, he's been able to suppress every damn feeling this damn thing they call life throws in his way.

Maybe neither one of them has been as strong as these.

Maybe not even the horror from the bathroom was as strong as the hunger, the uneasiness, the longing, _the burning fucking longing, _and the utter, clawing despair that he feels now.

He has kissed him.

He has kissed Lawrence.

Lawrence is his only friend, the only one in his life that cares about him… And he's kissed him.

He's wrecked the best thing that's ever happened to him.

_What makes you think it was so damn good? _The cold voice snaps. _And what makes you think he even cared about you? You also thought Jerry cared about you, didn't you? And if he'd really cared, wouldn't he have… Stayed?_

Adam moans and pulls his hand off his face. The voice hits a soar spot now, and it knows that, but it hasn't hurt him so badly that he's not going to talk back.

"That was different," he hisses and walks into the kitchen. "Lawrence is my friend, not my brother. It's not really the same conditions."

He opens the refrigerator, slams it shut and opens it again.

Lawrence would've wanted him to eat.

That's what he always tries to tell himself those rare times when his rational side, the side that knows that he has to eat, reaches him.

Lawrence would've wanted him to eat.

But not even that can convince him, and he lets his stomach, that turns in reluctance, get the best of him as he closes the fridge again and keeps arguing with his ego.

_Fine, Lawrence isn't your brother, _it says as Adam walks back into the living room. _You tongue-kissed yesterday, so that would've been a little creepy. But he _is _your best friend, and you can't say Jerry wasn't. And you've ruined that. Just like you wanted. Kudos. _

Adam shakes his head.

"I didn't want to ruin it," he mumbles. "It was scary as hell, but…"

And all the sudden, the cold voice laughs. Not cruelly like it usually does, but friendly. Like at a cute little child.

Like it wants to lull him into a false sense of security.

_Stupid little boy. Jerry isn't even here, and you still always listen to him. He really was your mentor, wasn't he?_

"What?"

_Don't act like a fool. What was it that Jerry said all the time, what was it that he always said when you send a doubting glance to a drink he offered you?_

"Like hell I'd know," Adam mutters and buries his face in his hands.

_Oh, but you do. You haven't repressed him that well. If it…_

"If it…"

Memories are slowly stirred up from hidden spaces in Adam's mind, like the bottom of the sea by a boat propeller. Memories of Jerry's crooked smile, his words…

Memories he has to pick up again after spending fourteen years trying to forget them.

"If it feels good…"

Adam hesitates.

"If it feels good… And it sounds nice… Then it's your choice, don't doubt yourself, don't even think twice."

Right. Jerry's favorite song. "Sooner Or Later", by Michael Tolcher. And that was his favorite quote from it.

Adam chuckles, and he doesn't even think about that he's warming up to a bad subject, a forbidden part of his life.

"He dropped that one all the fucking time…"

_Exactly. And you trust Jerry, don't you?_

Adam moans and closes his eyes.

_And that kiss felt nice, didn't it?_

"Shut up," Adam mumbles and presses his palms to his ears.

Tries to block out a voice that doesn't exist.

_And you want to do it again, don't you?_

"Stop it," Adam whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut even harder.

_It felt good, I know that much… And you haven't heard another human voice since that nurse told you that you'd been put on disinfecting IV for the bullet wound in your shoulder, so we should consider that 'sounds nice'-part done. Obviously. Because you love that voice, you love that heeding, you'd do anything for it. You fucking little attention whore._

Adam presses his hands harder to his ears, the blood roars in them, almost hurts, but the sound can't drown the voice, and the voice hurts even more.

_Attention whore… Whore… Whore… It was your fault… Always your fault… _

Adam swallows a sob of memorable anguish and presses his hands so hard against the sides of his head, he doesn't even hear the doorbell. It's Lawrence who has to remove his palms from his ears, so that Adam has to open his eyes and look into those concerned, blue ones, the ones he suddenly knows will always be there, the ones that will never go away and never stop worrying about him.

_You said that about Jerry, too. _

Yes. He did.

"Are you alright?" Lawrence asks, concerned, as always. "You're so pale!"

Adam chuckles nervously.

"Haven't I always been?"

Lawrence doesn't seem to see the humor in the situation.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asks, not even thinking about the fact that he still hasn't let go of Adam's wrists.

When his one hand then travels up and lands on his shoulder, he doesn't think about that, either.

"Have you eaten today?" Lawrence continues, and at that point, Adam panics too much to think about little worldly things.

Like Lawrence's hand on his shoulder.

Like the greatest thing that's ever happened to him since he got out of the bathroom.

"You've really stuck on my eating, haven't you?" He asks sarcastically and rakes his hand through his hair.

Lawrence smiles weakly.

"That's because there is none," he says in a soft tone. "And I'm worried about everything I can get my hands on, you know that."

It doesn't matter that his voice is soft and gentle. It doesn't matter that his thumb strokes Adam's shoulder, soothing, caressing… Loving.

It doesn't matter.

Adam has never been more afraid in his life.

"Stop it," he mutters and suddenly becomes aware of the hand on his shoulder, which gives him even more panic. Wonderful panic. "I'm not anorexic, or something…"

_Oh, that's not obvious at all, _the voice says.

"I know that," Lawrence says – lies – and his hand doesn't seem to listen to his desperate pleas for it to stop moving, stop moving to the right and touch the cool, soft skin on Adam's neck. "But…"

Now, Adam, too, seems to realize what Lawrence, or his hand, is doing. His jumping gaze suddenly stops on Lawrence's thumb, which slowly runs over his neck.

And with this, he also realizes what this is doing to him.

Realizes that a slow motion of Lawrence's thumb over his skin leaves a burning little trail, that he's never felt like this before, that this isn't like when he flashes past a porno movie either, it's big and real and stinging burning and oh _god… _

"Lawrence…" Adam begins, his voice hoarse, because he has to stop this, he's already opened up and he'd do anything, _anything _for Lawrence now, anyone can hurt him, anyone…

But Lawrence cuts him off with a shushing, his eyes are suddenly closed, because he's already given up. Being older and wiser, he's come to one very simple realization: Nothing, nothing that neither one of them does now, can stop this from happening.

So he lets his lips crash down on Adam's, kisses him hotly and gratifying, shoves his tongue deep into his mouth, and Adam feels in a drooping joy mixed with terror how all his resistances, all his homophobic thoughts, all the walls between them melt away in the heat of their bodies.

Adam still has a wall inside of him. But the wall around him, the one he thought could defend him from Lawrence, the one he's strengthened way too little, wasn't made of stone like he thought, but of ice, ice that Lawrence can take away so easily, _too _easily can he defrost Adam with his warm, soft tongue, his lips, his heat, he searching hands that so politely asks their way over his body, and Adam doesn't have the energy to try to keep the wall up as Lawrence wraps and arm around his waist, forces him even deeper into that wonderful, terrible warmth of his, and pushes him back.

Adam gasps softly as he suddenly falls backwards onto his bed, and Lawrence's body weight pushes him into the mattress.

He's got no idea how they got here. He's got no idea why he loves this, or why Lawrence seems to do, too, but that's how it is, and he doesn't have the energy to fight back anymore.

He wants it. He wants it too badly for that.

_It? Do you really want _it, _Adam Faulkner?_

Adam feels a moan escape his lips, and he knows what's happening, he knows what will happen to him when he feels that deep, heavy beat in the bottom of his stomach, and it scares him to death and arouses him at the same time.

_Fine. I admit it. I don't want _it, _I want _him.

Lawrence plunders Adam's mouth with his tongue, coaxing involuntarily moans from him, and he wonders how something can feel so… Opposite, or whatever you should call it, as this.

How can something be so wrong, and in the meantime so right?

And, more importantly, how can something feel so damn good, and in the meantime make you want to kill yourself?

Because he loves to do this. It's awful, but he loves Adam's kisses, his moans, his tiny hands that climbs from his waist to the back of his neck.

But he hates it, too.

He hates it, because now, when he and Adam are pressed together, it just gives him a better view of the complete misery his friend is in. The complete misery that he can't get out of on his own and that he'll never ask for help about.

It almost makes him cry. Because it's like kissing a person that's made of toothpicks.

He's so small. So fragile. Lawrence is afraid that he's going to break Adam's thin, awfully thin body with his touches, that he will crush him with his body upon his.

Adam's hands travel from the short hairs in the back of Lawrence's neck, they move down and rakes over his back, and even though they're cold, Lawrence swallows Adam's moans and forces them back into his mouth, and he loves it and hates it at the same time.

He's getting braver with where he touches. Or maybe it's just that his body knows what he does better than him by now.

Adam is close, yes, but he wants him closer, _needs_ him closer. It feels like the life he's lived up until now hadn't been enough, like there's a giant hole in his chest where his heart is supposed to be, and only Adam can fill it in.

Adam, for that matter, doesn't seem to think much differently. He's too busy running his insecure hands over Lawrence's body to think about how willingly he gives in, to be ashamed over the steady beginnings of an erection he can feel below his screaming stomach.

He wants it. And who can blame him? He's never been treated like this before. No one has even acted like they want _him, _like he's attractive, like he's… Sufficient.

_Why are you so freaked out? _The cold voice says. _It's lust. It's general affection. And you've felt that before, right?_

Adam swallows a craving growl as Lawrence's hand goes down to his hip.

_For a man? _He quips. _That would be no. _

He just has to hesitate for a second, just drink in the feeling of Lawrence's hands on his body to find a way to explain exactly why he's freaked out.

_And that still wasn't like this. With girls, it wasn't like this. _

_Because with girls, I didn't want _them, _I just wanted _sex. _I wanted their boobs, I didn't _hunger _for them and for their touches, I didn't feel like I just _had to _have their naked skin against my own… _

_How endearing, _the voice says coldly_. _

Lawrence's hand goes up from Adams hip and sneaks in under the hem of his t-shirt, feels the shivering, bloodless skin on his lover's stomach.

_Jesus,_ Lawrence thinks. _And he claims he's not anorexic. For the love of God, Adam, your stomach is almost fucking concave, that's how skinny you are._

But at this touch, Adam gasps sharply and squirms in a different way then before.

"No, Lawrence…" He mumbles and turns his head to the left. "Don't– "

Lawrence looks at him, concerned.

"What?"

"Not… Not right there," Adam says, his voice rough, and Lawrence's heart aches as he sees a blush creep up on his face.

Adam doesn't know how to explain it. He feels like a stupid, vain teenage girl, but it doesn't matter. The god-awful truth is that Lawrence hands can be wherever, in whatever place they may wish on his body, but not on his stomach. Never his stomach.

The hand of someone he desperately wants to be pleased with his body can't be on his stomach, since his stomach is the very place on his body he can never, ever, ever be pleased with himself.

Lawrence furrows his brows, but he doesn't argue. He doesn't want to stop, because right now, he wouldn't be able. They've gone too far now.

There's no turning back.

And even if there was, hell knows if anyone of them would _want _to go back.

So Lawrence pulls his hand out of Adam's shirt, his lips travel down his chin, his jaw line until his kisses stay on his neck, he feels Adam shiver beneath him and once again, his hands stop listen to him, they crawl over to Adam's fly and pulls it down. And there's nothing he can do about it. And not Adam, either.

Adam gasps and feels his fingers clench into Lawrence's shirt.

"Lawrence…" He mumbles and squirms, he wants to come up with an excuse to get out of this, but not one of their reasonable sides reaches them anymore. Maybe they would have if it hadn't been real, if it still hadn't been anything but porn-arousal, but that's not the case, no.

When Lawrence's hand slips into Adam's boxers and grabs his erection, the only things that exist are red, hot, pulsing shockwaves that runs steadily down Adam's body, paralyzes him, dull and heavy and deep and real, and then, Adam can't disagree anymore. He can't.

Adam can't disagree. And he doesn't want to when Lawrence's hand pulls up and then down again, and Adam would've cried out if it hadn't been so damn girly, he would've disagreed if it hadn't felt so damn good, he would've pushed Lawrence away if he hadn't been so damn sure about what to do to make it feel so damn good, if he hadn't cared about Adam, if he hadn't been… Lawrence.

Lawrence draws his thumb over the head, and Adam feels those shockwaves turning into one, united burning hot jolt that runs through his body, and he feels his back arch slightly as Lawrence finds a good pace, slow and steady, torturing and wonderful, wonderful panic that builds up like a pressure in his crotch.

Adam doesn't know how long this goes on. It seems like an eternity passes by before Adam's cock seems to stick in his hand and his whole body goes up and down, up and down with every pump until his breath becomes shallow and his fingers twitch, his face cringes until that warm, dull ache that's been gnawing him explodes in a firework that puts flashes, not unlike those white photoflashes in who's light he first saw Lawrence, and he grunts when he comes in a rapid shooting of fluids over his stomach.

Adam's shallow breathing slowly get soft and shaking, and he feels Lawrence smiling against his neck before he lifts his head and plants one final kiss on Adam's parted lips.

"Adam…" He mumbles and brings his other hand to his face, draws his index finger over his bottom lip and feels the warm respiration against his skin. "Do you promise me to eat breakfast tomorrow?"

And Adam nods sharply, his eyes are still closed and his body trembles from the aftershocks of his orgasm, and as an arm curls around his waist and a nose snuggles up in the crook of his neck, he doesn't even think about the fact that he'll never keep that promise.


	11. Velvet, Water, Crumbling Walls

**A/N: Okay, I've decided to stop apologizing for the lengths of these chapters. It just seems like this fic will be the longest fanfic with the longest chapters I've ever written… But you still like me, don't you? Anyway, my darlings, read on… **

**10: Velvet, Water, Crumbling Walls **

Adam is asleep.

He's asleep and he's pale and cold and ruffled and soft and beautiful, when he's asleep and can't clench his jaw and flutter his gaze, he's beautiful, he's so terribly beautiful.

Lawrence looks at him. It was almost eleven when he woke up, and then, Adam was still sound asleep next to him. So small. So thin and defenseless and so beautiful that it almost hurts, it almost physically _hurts _to look at him.

Lawrence strokes some of those soft, dark strands of hair away from Adam's temple, pressing his lips to the soft flesh there.

_God, _Lawrence thinks, since he actually has thoughts he can control, and not just a sadistic little headvoice that wants to hurt him. _I haven't even heard the song 'Beautiful Disaster,' but it has to be a song about Adam. Whichever teenage superstar that made that must've seen Adam walk by on the street with that chequered outside shirt and headphones and one of those damn cigarettes in the corner of his mouth, and thought: "I want to write a song about that kid."_

_Because that's what Adam is, isn't it? Isn't Adam the only one who can be so broken, so damaged, with so thick layers of armor around himself, and still be so awfully much more beautiful than Allison ever was? _

_Faggot, _a tiny voice in his head still says.

Lawrence smiles weakly and moves his hand from Adam's hair to his cheek, caresses the smooth, pale skin there, too.

Maybe he knows, on some level, that he's seizing a rare opportunity. That if he did this on Adam when he was awake, he'd pull away, avoid those warm, searching fingers. So he does it now.

Adam lets his guard down when he's sleeping. Never otherwise.

And then, Lawrence does the one thing he can never do, the thing that would make Adam punch him in the face if he hadn't slept well for the first time in a year, the thing that's sacrilege and wrong and so very, very forbidden: He slowly lifts the covers away from Adam's body and pulls, so carefully as possible, since all the nights when he's fallen asleep on Adam's couch with his head in his lap have taught him that his friend sleeps pretty lightly, up the white t-shirt Adam's fallen asleep in.

And just like when Adam did it himself a few months ago, Lawrence has to put a hand over his mouth to keep himself from crying out.

Adam is broken.

There's no better way to put it. He's broken, simply broken, all the hits he's gotten without wanting to acknowledge them have blown a big part of his stomach away, and the only thing that's left is a completely flat, empty surface with a navel on the bottom, and pale, visible, _so dreadfully fucking visible _ribs that looks like the sea when it's dried, when the waves themselves have stiffened to a stationary plane.

Lawrence lays his hand on that stomach. Lets his fingertips fumble over the ribs, bites his bottom lip when he sees what his hand touches.

_Little Adam, _he thinks. _You're suffering. I can see it. Even before today, I could see it, I saw your face when I came to your place with a pizza, I saw the dark marks under your eyes and how your t-shirts hanged way too loosely around your body. And I want to help you, I just want to help you, can't you see… _

And almost like he's heard him, Adam turns in his sleep, and Lawrence hurriedly takes his hand away from his stomach. Adam yawns widely and rubs his closed eyes, and Lawrence suddenly feels the same kind of big, warm, almost overwhelming tenderness that he usually feels for Diana, fill him inside and out when Adam hazily opens his eyes and smiles sleepily.

"Hey there," he mumbles, and even though Lawrence is so worried that he almost has to hold himself down to keep from clubbing Adam over the head and _drag _him to a hospital, he has to smile back.

"Morning," he says and lifts his hand again to stroke Adam's cheek. "Sleep well?"

"Better than you, apparently," Adam says and stretches himself. "Where you awake looking at me all night?"

"Who'd be able to sleep with you right next to them?" Lawrence says, really only half joking, and sits at the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, Adam, but I have to go. I have Diana today."

"Okay," Adam says in a slurred voice and rolls over to his side to look at Lawrence's back. "You're coming over later?"

"Well," Lawrence says and gets up, "I still have Diana then, but you can come to my place. She'll be there, but if you don't have any plans…"

"Sure," Adam says and smiles again when Lawrence walks over to his side of the bed. "Around seven?"

"Whenever you want," Lawrence says and lays his hand back down on his cheek. "I'll see you then."

He knows he should stay. That he should make sure Adam keeps the promise he made yesterday, the promise he probably barely remembers making and that they both know he wouldn't keep even if he did.

But he'll give Adam a chance. A chance to keep that stupid pride that he clutches to so desperately. A chance to have breakfast without anyone looking over his shoulder.

A chance to get by without help.

So instead of staying, he leans over the skinny little person beneath him.

Adam wasn't going to do it. He thought Lawrence wanted to feel like somewhat of a good role model when he's going to pick up his daughter from his ex wife, but when Lawrence leans down over him, engulfs him in a cloud of his scent, dazes him, embraces him, makes him drunk, he still can't think anymore, then, his hands go up to Lawrence's waist by themselves as Lawrence kisses him, warmly and softly, calmer than yesterday.

Adam goes back to sleep as soon as he hears the door closing. He sleeps underneath the blanket that's still warm from Lawrence. And for once, it's not cold just because he's alone.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Aren't you going to eat something?" Diana asks later that night when she, Lawrence and Adam sit in Lawrence's little couch with a big bowl of spaghetti in front of them on the coffee table.

Adam smiles uncertainly. He's not sure how to explain to an eight year-old what you can't explain to her father, but Lawrence saves him as he shovels some spaghetti onto his daughter's plate.

"Honey, it's bad enough that I put _you _through my cooking," he says and smiles at Diana. "Adam doesn't like eating at all, but in this case, I understand him."

Adam pretends not to hear him, pretends to doesn't feel the familiar panic that builds up inside of him, and takes a sip of his beer, and Diana giggles and spins some spaghetti onto her fork.

"Don't you like to eat, Adam?" She asks with her mouth full, and Adam glances over at her and starts fidgeting with the label on his bottle.

"You won't, either," he says with a small smile. "In just six or seven years, some mean girls in your class will say you're fat, even though you're so damn beautiful, and then, you won't want to eat."

Diana widens her eyes in childish compassion.

"Has anyone called you fat?"

_Has anyone done that, Adam? _The cold little voice says. _Has anyone done that beside yourself?_

"No," he says and takes another sip of his beer. "And come to think of it, no one will do that do you, either, because all the stupid teenage girls you'll meat in your day will know that me and Lawrence'll beat the crap out of them if they're mean to you. So they'll watch it."

Diana laughs again.

Lawrence drinks some of his own beer, looks at his best friend talking to his daughter, and he thinks that he loves to see them together. Diana looks at Adam like he's a clown, funny, yes, but oh-how-wise underneath that rough shell.

Because that's what he is. Diana can look beneath all those walls Adam hides behind, see his amazing, sarcastic, true self. And admire him for it.

Adam, on the other hand, looks at Diana in a way that he doesn't even look at Lawrence. He looks at Lawrence with uncertain admiration, with awkward love. His blue eyes turn into a beautiful, rolling ocean when he looks at Lawrence, warm and kind, and when his sarcasms come, they're like a flatfish you've stepped on that tickles your feet.

But when he looks at Diana, his eyes turn into velvet. Soft, gentle velvet, because Diana is the first one ever to admire him. The first one that could've had any male role model besides Lawrence, but that still _wants_ to have him for it.

Lawrence cares about Adam. Adam is his best friend and more than that, and he wants to tear down the walls he has around him and close his arms around him, whisper in his ear that he's perfect the way he is. But he doesn't admire him. He can't.

"Jesus Christ," Adam suddenly says and leans forward as Shakira shows up on the TV-screen in a music video. "I'd love to eat _her. _Look at that rack!"

Lawrence sends Adam a fake murdering gaze over Diana's head, and Diana looks at Adam in surprise.

"What's a rack?" She asks curiously and furrows her brows, as if she tries to search her memory for an occasion when she's heard that word.

Adam grins and takes a sip of his beer. Shakira disappears from the screen and he can lay those velvet eyes on Diana again.

"That, young lady, I'll explain to you when you get older," he says and glances over at Lawrence, and Lawrence feels that gaze landing on his stomach, laying there, softly vibrating.

He wants him.

Just one look was needed to make him realize that. Again.

He wants him.

"And when your dad isn't around," Adam adds and sends Lawrence a crooked smile. "He'd tear my head off."

Diana laughs. Adam keeps smiling, but he doesn't take his gaze off Lawrence. It stays in his, keeps vibrating, teasing, like a soft hand that pulls over his cheek, down over his chest, his stomach, down to the steady beginnings of an erection that Adam's eyes just increases.

_He's still a man, Lawrence, _his headvoice mutters in displease.

Yes. Adam is a man. He's a man that barely can pay his rent, a man that's so damn proud that he can't admit that he's anorexic even to himself, and, if we are to be completely honest, a man that can be very annoying, and it doesn't make sense, but Lawrence doesn't have the energy to care. He doesn't manage to question the boiling lust that Adam can make him feel with just one look, he doesn't manage to push Adam away, hell, he barely manages to wait until Diana's gone to bed.

The funny thing is that even though Adam seems at least as turned on as Lawrence, neither one of them gets anything from the other tonight.

Lawrence smiles to himself as he sees Diana close her eyes a bit too long for it to count as a blink. Her head falls down for a second before she startles and opens her eyes again.

"Diana, honey," Lawrence says and lays a hand on her back. "Are you tired?"

"No," Diana says and tries to suppress a yawn with her hand, and Lawrence chuckles.

"Yeah, you are."

"No."

Lawrence smiles, and a warm, funny feeling that he's so familiar with, since he now feels it for two people, fills him as he takes Diana's shoulder and pushes her head down on his lap.

It isn't until he actually looks at Adam that he sees that his head is hanging, his chin is pressed against his chest and his deep breaths travel all the way over Diana and mix with her own, and Lawrence laughs again.

_Just as childish… _

Adam is asleep. Again.

"Okay," Lawrence says and lifts Diana's head up, "Here we go…"

He gets up as quietly as possible and lays Diana's head down on the couch. She doesn't even flinch. Her face is just as relaxed, just as sleeping and just as heart-wrenchingly beautiful as Adam's.

When Diana's safe on the couch, Lawrence pads over to Adam, grabs his shoulder and pushes him down. His loose-limbed body tenses for a brief second, and his water eyes are opened but close down quickly again, his hanging head finally winds up on Diana's hip when Lawrence lifts his legs up and places them folded on the couch.

Lawrence picks up a blanket that lies over the back on the couch and spreads it over Adam. He tells himself that Diana doesn't need it as much, she has a grown man laying across her legs…

_Stop it, Lawrence, _his headvoice scoffs. _Of course Diana doesn't need that blanket as much as Adam, since she, unlike some other people, has some fat on her body, and by this isn't cold all the time. _

Lawrence knows he has to listen to it. That the voice is right, that Adam is anorexic, and it's him that has to pick him out of it.

But not now. Not tonight. Tonight, he wants to enjoy watching Adam shift slightly in his sleep, to stroke Adam's bangs aside and kiss his forehead, to mumble "Good night, Adam," without having to think about the graveness that lures under these words.

When he pulls back, Lawrence looks at the people in the couch. At Diana in her Barbie-shirt and Adam in his baggy jeans, and a thought pops up in his head and fills him with horror and joy at the same time:

_My God. These are the two most important people in my life. _

_Yeah, _the headvoice replies. _Equally important, equally beautiful, equally light, equally defenseless. Adam is a _child_, Lawrence, and he has anorexia. You know he didn't have breakfast today, since if he had, he'd be able to stay awake. And you're a doctor, and more importantly, his best friend. So you know what you have to do, don't you? _

Lawrence sighs and rakes a hand through his hair.

_Yes. I know what I have to do. _


	12. Defenseless

**A/N: YAY! And so, I update once again! Don't you just love it? Anyway, once you've started going down the smut-road, there really is no turning back, so… I'm going for it!**

**11: Defenseless**

Lawrence fidgets with the phone for an abnormally long time. He's been doing it for five minutes by now, and he still doesn't have the guts to pick up the phone and call someone that he still knows gets happy when he calls.

_I'm his friend. I'm allowed to call him, even if it is to say something I know he doesn't want to hear. _

He's already told himself this. Over and over. But it doesn't make him any less nervous.

_Yes, Lawrence, _a completely different, less merciful voice in his head then says. _You're his friend. You know what would really make you a bad friend?_

_Yeah, I do. _

_If you didn't call him. If you just watched his life fade away from him. You'd be a bad friend and a hell of a bad doctor. So pick up the goddamn phone and call him. _

Lawrence sighs heavily and picks up the receiver. And then, he slowly dials the numbers he knows by heart at this point, even though he really hasn't called it too many times.

He actually hasn't known Adam all that long.

This thought smacks Lawrence like a heavy club over his head.

He's known Adam for about three months. And they met under the worst possible, terrible circumstances, circumstances that still echoes in his worst, deepest nightmares, nightmares that's stained with his own blood, Adam's blood, Diana's screams and the shot from thee gun in his own hand.

But Adam is the best friend he's ever had.

And he has to help him. He _has to. _

"Hello?"

Adam's voice in the phone makes Lawrence jump. And smile widely.

"Hi."

"Lawrence? Hey, man."

"How's it going?"

Adam sigh makes the phone crackle.

"Boringly. I've got a thousand things to do, but not the energy to get up."

"Kids today," Lawrence sighs theatrically.

Adam laughs.

"Yeah, we're hopeless. So, what's up?"

"Well," Lawrence says and rakes his hand through his hair. "If you've got a lot to do, I won't keep you from it, but…"

"You want me to come over, you sad little man?" Adam says, and Lawrence can almost hear his grin.

"Well, I have today off," Lawrence says, in a faked, shameful tone. "And Allison'll drop Diana off in an hour, but I'd like to talk to you. You think you can come over?"

"Now?" Adam says, and Lawrence can see in his head how he shoots a glance to the tiny clock on top of the TV.

"Yeah. You've got the time?"

Adam chuckles.

"You kidding? I'll do anything to put this shit on hold for another day."

Lawrence cracks up.

"Alright. See you soon."

"Sure. Bye."

Lawrence hangs up. And then he puts his head in his hands with a deep sigh and a ball of ice in his stomach.

_This is going to be awful. _

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam smiles widely as he walks through the door. Lawrence smiles back, since his presence actually manages to melt some of the ice ball in his stomach.

"Hi."

"Hey, man," Adam says, and doesn't fight back when Lawrence pulls him into a tight embrace.

Adam closes his eyes and snuggles up in Lawrence's chest for a brief second.

_Well, aren't you a sissy. _

That voice. That fucking voice that has to destroy everything that's good.

But fortunately, Lawrence's voice is there, too.

Now days, Lawrence's real voice is there. And just like when Adam was alone, and only could hear that voice in his head, it actually makes things better.

_Oh my god, _the voice says in a fake shock. _Are you failing the life philosophy of Adam Faulkner? That everything that's good eventually gets bad? Jesus, Adam, I'd never think that about you!_

Adam doesn't manage to shield himself from the sharp voice. And when it leaves even more deep gashes in his soul, not even Lawrence's words can sow them together.

"What were those stuff you should've taken care of today?" Lawrence says and lets go of Adam to close the door.

Adam sighs again and takes off his shoes.

"I've never been rich, unlike some people," he says with a venomous, grey look at Lawrence, "but now it's official. After next month's rent, I have _nothing."_

"Nothing?"

"Yeah. Two bucks. And fuck if I'm going back to that… Other stuff."

He doesn't look at Lawrence when he says the last two words. Because Lawrence knows what he means just as well as he does. The only difference is that Lawrence isn't bothered by what Adam used to do for a living.

But Lawrence still wrinkles his forehead in concern.

"Can't I just lone you some money?"

Adam widens his eyes, but manages to get his face in order before he straightens up.

_You hear that? _The voice asks mockingly. _He offered you help. Are you going to be a sissy this time, too? _

_You know I won't, _Adam replies. _This isn't the bathroom. It's worse, but it isn't the bathroom. _

He won't let Lawrence help him. He won't accept help. Never.

Never again.

"Come on," he says and waves his hand considerately. "I'll survive. The way I've planned it, I'll look for jobs like an idiot tomorrow, so it'll be fine. I don't need the money until ten days from today, anyway."

"You sure?" Lawrence asks worriedly.

_Are you sure, Adam? Are you sure you don't want to be a sissy? _

_Stop it. _

_Why would I? You know, too, that you just brought up that thing with the money because you _wanted _him to offer you money! This pride you're so picky about keeping doesn't even _exist, _can't you see that?_

Stab, stab, stab, pain, pain, pain…

"Come on," Adam says with a chuckle. "I'm not smart like you, but I know how much money I spend on groceries."

_Which, by the way, I save quite a lot of money on, since I haven't bought any for three months, _he adds in his head with his own childish joy, coated with his disordered reality.

And not even the headvoice can disagree with him there.

"Okay," Lawrence says with a small smile. "And by the way, that thing I wanted to talk to you about…"

Adam looks at him and taps his legs with his fingers nervously. There's a distant fog over his grey eyes, over the attention he still always gives Lawrence, that tells Lawrence that he didn't get much sleep tonight.

Lawrence loves him.

That's another thing that smacks him over the head. A thought that surprises him a lot, considering that he, on some level, has always known it.

He loves him.

Lawrence smiles again.

_This skinny, sarcastic, proud, pale little kid in front of me. _

_I love him. _

"I'm worried about your eating," Lawrence says in a single breath.

And everything is destroyed.

Everything was so good a few seconds ago. As good as it can get with everything that's tainting their past. But now, Lawrence has wrecked everything, _every-fucking-thing _is wrecked!

Because he recognizes Adam's terrified gaze, recognizes the way his face is drained of color as soon as his eating gets brought up, he recognizes…

But Adam doesn't give him much time to recognize on. His eyes jump down to the floor after just a second, don't let Lawrence see that dreadful tale that's appeared in them, don't let him see the reason to why he can't ask for help, can't get too depending on anyone.

"Stop it," he mumbles. "I eat."

"You do?" Lawrence says, quicker than he knew he had the courage to and moves closer to Adam to put a hand on his shoulder. "I've never seen you eat, Adam. Ever. I've seen you with a cigarette and a bears, but never with food. You don't even eat the nuts in the bar when we go out, for God's sake!"

Okay, okay, calm down, you're already losing it…

_If you lay too much at him at once, he'll walk away, you know that. _

And Adam indeed looks at him with annoyance like two glints in his matted eyes.

"I thought the reason to why doctors got patients was that they wouldn't dump all their Doctor Phil-behavior on the people around them," he says, acid dripping off his words.

Lawrence does his best not to roll his eyes. And in the same time, he suddenly feels how Adam's right next to him. Right next to him.

"I'm not playing Doctor Phil, you know I don't. I'm just worried about you…" He mumbles and feels his mind get somewhat clouded by Adam's closeness.

_Snap out of it,_ the voice in his head mutters. _You know what you have to say, the kid's life depends on it. You're going to be the one to lift him out of this, and you know that, too._

But it's hard to focus on anything but Adam's body. Adam's body pressed up against his, Adam's nervous gaze that jumps around the room and finally lands on Lawrence's face.

"I know you are," Adam says quietly. "I just don't get why."

"Yes, you do," Lawrence says – _he's so damn, damn close now_ – and his hands get a life of their own. His head knows why he asked Adam to come to his place, but his hands find Adam's hips by themselves, they find a way under his shirt and feels the cool, naked skin there, and Adam inhales shakily.

Presses himself even closer to Lawrence. Like he knows what he's about to say, but wants to distract him. Doesn't want to listen, doesn't want to hear him.

"I'm worried because you don't eat," Lawrence says and lets his hand creep up even further, which causes Adam to wince. "I've already said that. More than once, actually."

Lawrence sees how the young man responds to his touch, sees how his body struggles against it even though eyes are hazed with desire, and it hurts, it hurts so fucking bad!

_Adam_… He says in his mind and pushes him closer. _Adam, I would never, ever hurt you…_

Adam clears his throat, furrows his brows a little. Maybe he's just as unaware about what his hand is doing as Lawrence when it's lifted up and placed on Lawrence's chest, seems to search for some sort of entrance to what it really wants through the expensive shirt.

"I eat," he mutters again. "Maybe…"

He pauses when Lawrence moves his hands down to his hips again, closes his eyes with a sigh and then continues.

"Maybe not that much, but…"

"Adam," Lawrence cuts him off with more determination than he expected from himself.

Adam won't look at him. Two of his fingers slip into between the buttons in Lawrence's shirt, strokes greedily over the naked skin. Lawrence swallows, tries to push that odd, tingly feeling that starts to boil in his blood when he gets touched aside, but then continues without any actual success.

"I will never let anyone hurt you," he says. "Ever. And not yourself, either."

Adam still doesn't look at him. Just like before, he's terrified, absolutely terrified, that Lawrence will see what's on his mind.

_This can't be normal, _he thinks as he feels Lawrence's skin stretched out under his hand. _He's known me for three months. And he says stuff that mom never even said to me, stuff that Jerry only said when he was drunk, that I still knew he meant. From the bottom of his heart. _

_idiot, _the voice retorts.

It's right. And comparing Lawrence to Jerry still makes his already aching stomach tear apart with pain. With fear.

His thumb slides upwards and unbuttons another button, unnoticed, to get his whole hand in there as Lawrence's fingers dance over his skin, coax those terrible, human feelings from him, force Adam to say the words Lawrence have been waiting for, the words that he on some level knows that Lawrence saves in a folder in his head to use against him later, use to force help that he doesn't want on him, in the same time as he almost wants it as much as he wants Lawrence right now, when ever fiber in his body seems to have turned his way, struggles to reach him.

"I can't get any appetite after… That," he says in a low voice. " And I'm tired of being hungry, Lawrence…"

His fingers drink in the feeling of Lawrence's skin, play with it gratifyingly, draw over his nipple and forces Lawrence to sigh weakly, which makes Adam, in a fairly calm and sensible way, go completely crazy.

Lawrence was going to answer Adam's comment. But just like himself, Adam seems to know exactly what to do to make all his reasonable thoughts melt away, or at least momentarily drown in the big, red, flaming lust that pulses through his body by Adam's slender fingertips that make his nipple hard. And then, he can't say anything.

Adam's hand goes to the top button of Lawrence's shirt. And now, he finally looks at him.

"When did you say Allison would bring Diana over?" He asks, his voice rough.

"In twenty minutes," Lawrence says after glancing at the clock on the wall.

"We have time."

Lawrence chuckles.

"You're out of your mind," he says, even though his hands, that already hungrily travel over Adam's back, stroke his shoulder blades, send a completely different message. "What if she comes here early… Or…"

"I don't give a _fuck_," Adam says with pressure on every syllable, and his eyes are finally stuck in Lawrence's when he unbuttons that last button, and his gaze his all black, like he was angry. "I want to. Now."

And then, he doesn't even wait for an answer, he just puts his mouth to the now exposed chest, and savors the lustful moan that rains down on him. And when Lawrence almost tears his shirt off and feels that he for _God's sake has to have him now,_ he takes a firm grip on his shoulders and presses him into the wall next to him.

Adam's kisses are almost violent, it's a passionate aggression that hits Lawrence's skin when he travels those kisses upwards until he reaches his mouth, and they kiss, greatly, hungrily, deeply, with lips and tongue, and it's probably more that than the fact that they actually know what they're doing that makes them push their hips together, and Lawrence moans and Adam gasps when he feels another half-solid erection hit his own, and they soon find a good pace in their bucking, slow and rhythmic, and it makes Adam grit his teeth more than once and bury his fingers in Lawrence's thick hair.

It should be terrific. Lawrence feels himself climb higher and higher until he almost reaches the sun, like everything will explode as his mind goes blanker by the second. It should be great.

But there's still a shadow over them. Or over Adam, to be correct.

Because Lawrence still feels it.

He still feels it, like a bitter under taste in Adam's tongue that battles his own, an under taste that's even stronger than the touch of tobacco in his mouth.

He still feels how damn skinny Adam is. And it still makes him chill with fright.

Adam's erection just builds up by the way Lawrence responds to his rocking. Right now, it doesn't feel like they're doing this to satisfy each other, rather than it feels like they're sadists, or something, that want to torture themselves and each other as long as possible. Like neither one of them has ever had the orgasm that feels so close, so _unbearably fucking close_, and still so far out of reach.

Adam breaks apart from Lawrence's lips and kisses the side of his cheek, down his jaw line, his chin, down to a tender section of his neck, down to his chest and, after a brief hesitation, laps his tongue over his erected nipples, and Lawrence's sharp gasp almost makes his climax already.

"Adam…" Lawrence breathes and runs his fingers through hid fondly, chocolate hair.

And then he comes with a final push, and the mere sight of Lawrence's body convulse, his teeth clenched and his usually so smooth, collected face forms a grimace is enough to send Adam toppling over the edge as well, softly and shuddering.

Five minutes later, Adam and Lawrence are in the hallway and say hello to Diana with bigger smiles than usual. Their cheeks are flushed, their clothes are in disorder, and Adam's already ruffled hair is worse than usual, but Allison doesn't seem to notice. She just forces a smile for Adam, says something about Diana's homework to Lawrence, kisses Diana's cheek and leaves.

Lawrence is almost surprised. He almost thinks it should be visible on him and Adam what they share with each other. Sure, they'd only been together this way twice, but… Shouldn't it glow from them?

Shouldn't you see the bonds they share from miles away? See the things they've gone through together, things that destroys and burns, but that still have given them so many small, wonderful moments that they've both learned to love?

And of course Diana gives them a long look when Lawrence hurriedly caresses Adam's cheek. And of course she gets silently surprised when Adam blushes because of something Lawrence has done to her thousands of times.

But kids understand so little.

Ah, yes… Poor Diana is so naïve… Anyway, now, that I've given you some smut, it's only fair if you review, right?


	13. Everything I Have

**A/N: Hehe… ****I'm gonna be honest with you: I am **_**crazy **_**busy right now, but hey, fanfiction first, homework later! And there's no smut in this chapter… Just some more of Adam's backstory! **

**12: Everything I have**

Adam doesn't even get up when he hears the knock on the door. Lawrence knows him well enough by now to know that he rarely is up to anything, so he opens the door himself, and smiles when he sees Adam on the couch.

"Hey there."

"Hey," Adam says and nods against the fridge. "Please get a beer. This movie is so damn bad, you'll be scarred for life if you watch it sober."

Lawrence laughs and grabs a beer from the refrigerator.

"Then why are we watching it?"

Adam shrugs. Lawrence is out on thin ice now, and for once, he's not even aware of it. And Adam won't be the one who tells him about it.

The truth is, Adam's fear of the dark has been somewhat dyed down since he started seeing Lawrence. But that's probably mostly because he rarely sleeps alone anymore, that Lawrence always is there, with an arm around his waist and his calm, safe breathing into his hair.

But Adam still can't be in a silent apartment. Something there has to make sounds, because otherwise, he's alone with his own thoughts, his own voice in his head, his own self-hatred, his own fear.

With himself.

"Nothing else was on," Adam replies simply.

Lawrence seems to be satisfied with that answer.

"Don't you have Diana today?" Adam says and gives up every attempt he had to find something good about the movie, leans against the armrest and crosses his legs in front of himself.

Lawrence shakes his head bitterly.

"I went to her school today to pick her up, but Allison already had."

Adam frowns.

"Didn't she have her yesterday?"

"Yeah, I know," Lawrence says dejectedly and waves his hand. "I'm supposed to have her, but Diana doesn't keep tracks on that, so she didn't object. I'm just going to have to be really quick to her school tomorrow."

Adam grumbles something and takes a sip of his beer.

"Bitch," he mutters, and Lawrence sends him an amused look from the corner of his eye.

"Sorry," Adam says reluctantly.

"No, no, don't apologize," Lawrence says with a smile. "She _is_ a bitch. I can't believe that it took me fifteen years to see that."

Adam laughs and shakes his head.

"It's harder to see stuff like that when you don't live with her, I guess."

"Probably. But you'd think that certain things should show from miles away.

"Like that you're ridiculously overpaid?"

"And that you're unemployed."

"Fuck, you can tell?" Adam says with fake consternation and looks around his messy living room. "I knew I should've taken the flat-screen out before you came over!"

Lawrence chuckles. Then they're quiet for a few seconds, staring into the TV-screen, until Lawrence speaks up again.

"Can I ask you something, Adam?"

Adam shrugs.

"After… That… The bathroom…"

Adam nods and feels his hand involuntarily creep up to his shoulder. To the scar that will always be there.

Like he wasn't displeased enough with his body already.

"Do you see your family more after that?" Lawrence finishes off, and the guilt when he sees Adam graze over his shoulder is suddenly worse than the pain was when that saw raked over his ankle.

Adam shakes his head. And now he stares blindly into the TV again.

_Please, Lawrence. Please, please, please, Lawrence, I'd rather talk about _food_ than my family. Anything but my family. Hell, I'd rather sit in that bathroom again with a chain around my leg, way too far away from you than talking about my family. _

Adam has spent fourteen years trying to forget his family.

Not even Lawrence is so important to him that he'll risk all that again.

"Mom called me once after I got out of the hospital," he mumbles considerately, and his eyes jump to the TV, the bottle, the floor, anywhere but Lawrence. "But she probably just wanted to see that I was okay, and not kidnapped again or something…"

"But not after that?" Lawrence asks, still looking at Adam firmly.

Adam shakes his head again.

"What about your father?"

"Never met him," Adam says in a clipped tone.

Lawrence furrows his brows.

He actually hasn't realized how lonely Adam is until now. He's never seen him in any other condition, but in some way, on a pretty naïve level, he's probably always been thinking: _He has to have someone else, someone has to take care of him, someone has to see what an amazing person he is besides me…_

But it's not like that.

Lawrence doesn't realize it until now.

Adam has no one. No one except for him.

In one way or another, everyone else has left him.

"Don't you have any siblings?" He tries, because he sees how Adam slowly goes back into his shell of sarcasms and cigarette smoke. 

Adam feels the heart sink in his chest. There it is. The final nail. The very question he's been avoiding, both from himself and from others, for something that appears to be all his life.

Because as it is, he has one sibling. And he's blocked it out so cautiously that he's almost forgotten it.

"I have… A brother," he says all the sudden, without realizing it himself. "A big brother. Jerry."

Lawrence smiles faintly, and when Adam turns to him again, he feels the same wonderful panic that he felt when he and Lawrence kissed for the first time well up in him.

Because even though this is so gut-wrenchingly, utterly painful, he suddenly realizes that with all the awful things about Jerry that he repressed, he also repressed a lot of good things.

All these brilliant memories that only Lawrence can coax out of him.

"Our mom was depressed," Adam begins uncertainly and takes another sip of his beer. "Clinically depressed. Kept popping pills and stuff. And our dad had ran off, so Jerry… He was, like, all I had."

Lawrence's smile gets wider.

"So he was your mentor, or something?"

Adam smiles back at him.

"Yeah. I needed someone, right?"

_What did you just say, Adam? _The cold little voice asks. _You need someone? Again?_

"So he…" Adam says, pauses for a second and then begins again: "He was the one who taught me how to play baseball, and buying candy without mom noticing it, and to drink, and… All of that."

_Adam, you little idiot, _the voice moans. _What the hell are you doing?_

Adam can't answer to that. He really has no idea.

Lawrence laughs.

"If a mentor doesn't teach you that, who will?"

"Exactly!" Adam says. "Mom didn't really agree to that, those rare time when she wasn't drugged up, that is, but still. Jerry definitely raised me better than she did."

"That doesn't say much," Lawrence says teasingly, and Adam throws a pillow at him.

He knows he'll never be able to explain everything to Lawrence. No matter how much he means to him.

He'll never be able to explain that Jerry's rough raising methods were far better than anyone of those his mom tried.

He'll never be able to explain how his and Jerry's childhood could be one big game, from the moment they woke up until they went to bed, and still have such a harsh, cold seriousness beneath it.

He'll never be able to explain how Jerry could lie him full of nonsense, and still be the only one who told him the truth. Maybe not the truth that he read about in the schoolbooks a few years later, but he told Adam his own truth. And in most cases, that was truer to him than anything else.

"So he really was all you had?" Lawrence says gently and takes a sip of his beer.

Adam nods and does the same.

Pretends not to feel the stab of remorse in his heart.

"Don't you see him anymore?" Lawrence continues.

Adam waves his hand lazily.

"No. He left home. We lost touch."

Lawrence nods. He doesn't care to question it.

And for once, he doesn't even know that Adam's lying.

**Damn… I must say, I love keeping up the suspense on Jerry! But don't worry, you'll find out about him. As long as you review… **


	14. Painting Pictures

**A/N: Another chapter! YAY! No direct smut… Just some indirect makeout! Also, this chapter's featuring Allison… I've never written a line with her before, to be honest… Let's hope I've made her IC and bitchy!**

**13: Painting Pictures**

"Any homework this week?" Lawrence asks Allison when Diana's given him a hug and ran away to the big TV in the living room to play videogames.

Allison sends an amused glance after her daughter before she looks at Lawrence again, and Lawrence gets surprised when he actually _doesn't _see that cold, rejecting lid with the words _you left us, you bastard _written all over it laying over her gaze, like it usually does.

"No, not that I know of. It's her holiday soon, so…"

Lawrence nods.

He doesn't really see why Allison stays. She's never talked to him more than she's had to, not even before they got divorced, but now, she stays in his kitchen, looks around with a critical eye and one hand the counter, and Lawrence finds himself wishing that he could throw her out, simply because he senses that she's about to say something he doesn't want to hear.

"Anything else?" He asks, since he can't bear the waiting anymore.

Allison looks at him again. Then, she lowers her eyes for a second before she seems to have gathered up enough courage, and says:

"Can I talk to you for a second, Larry?"

Lawrence nods and beckons to the empty chairs in front of the table next to them. Allison sits down on one of them, and Lawrence sits opposite her. When he sees her cold, blue eyes attach themselves to his over the table, he can't help but feeling like he's in a shrink's office.

"What is it?"

"I've been thinking," Allison says and clasps her hands in front of herself. "I was hoping… Maybe we could try again."

Lawrence feels himself involuntarily startle, like she's hit him with a bat instead of presenting the dumbest suggestion he's ever heard her saying.

Allison. God. And she still is fairly smart for most of the time.

And yet, she asks him to come back to her. She, who still was even more willing than him to get their marriage over with.

She, that still just came home one afternoon, swept all of Lawrence's charts down from his desk and dropped the divorce papers on it, put a pen in his hand, knocked away his confused face with her own mask of emotional coldness and the word: "Sign."

But Lawrence doesn't know how to say any of this without sounding needlessly rude. So he just smiles uncertainly, maybe in some vein hope that she's joking, and clears his throat awkwardly.

"Why?"

Allison straightens up and looks at him like he's an idiot.

"For Diana's sake," she says in an almost overseeing way that makes Lawrence want to throw her out even more.

"In what way would it be better for Diana if we got back together?" He asks, and his obvious irritation shines through every word he says, but Allison has either been away for him long enough, or she'd never really listened to him, because she doesn't seem to notice. She just keeps looking at him like she actually had to convince Diana of this instead of her father.

"Every child feels better with parents that live together," she says, and Lawrence can hear a trace of provocation in her voice now. "You should know that. I don't want a daughter that's spent her entire childhood being shipped back and forth between two homes like a package."

Now, Lawrence doesn't care about seeming unbothered. He doesn't even care about Diana being in the other room, because it's coming to the surface again.

That raging fire in him that's been resting during the time he's been separated from Allison. That smouldering coal that can flare up at the tiniest sparkle, and that's now glowing and sputtering, menacingly, ragingly.

"You don't love me," Lawrence says, a little too fast, a little too loud, but he really doesn't care. "And I don't love you. Is it really better for her to grow up with two parents that don't love each other without knowing why? Is that the picture you want to give our daughter of love?"

Allison rolls his eyes, like she doesn't understand why he's so hung up on something as stupid as love, and spreads her fingers on the table.

"It's not about love," she says, and looks at Lawrence with a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. "It's about what's best for Diana! Wouldn't a good father put her needs in front of his own? Plus…"

She pauses with a sigh, lets her gaze drop to the table and says, in a reluctant muttering, like this was an argument she didn't want to use, that she just brings up now, since Lawrence is so damn stubborn with his stupid love.

"Plus, I don't want Diana to spend this much time with him… Adam…"

The words are spoken so quietly, with that light little voice that Lawrence lived with for fifteen years before he managed to break free from it, but it still feels like she picks up that big, merciless bat again and smacks Lawrence over the head, crushes his skull and lets his brains flow out over the floor beneath him.

Because Allison can't be serious. She can't.

She doesn't want to keep Diana away from Adam. Not him of all people. It's not possible.

But instead of saying this, Lawrence clears his throat again, in an attempt to control the boiling, hot fury that's replaced that manageable little irritation, and says, almost politely:

"Why don't you want Diana to be with Adam?"

Allison's eyes jump up to his face, and they're wide, her mouth is slightly open, like she's honestly _surprised _that Lawrence can ask such a thing.

"Larry," she says, in an either degrading or desperate way, Lawrence doesn't have time to decide which. "You can't give Diana _him _as a role model! He's an unemployed photographer! He can barely pay rent! And he lives on tobacco and fast food! You… He spied on you! It was his fault that you…"

She stops abruptly. Maybe she realizes that she's on a dangerous territory, or she doesn't have the energy to waste more of her valuable words on someone as useless as Adam.

Lawrence doesn't even have to work to suppress his anger now.

Because now, he feels nothing. His brain, that's still smeared out under his chair, can't absorb the information Allison tries to make him believe.

Allison has never studied _or _worked for all her life. She's lived on Lawrence's money, Lawrence's work, Lawrence's time away from Diana, and she was the one that killed his emotions, bit by bit, turned him into the zombie that Jigsaw tried to kill him for being.

And she calls Adam a bad example.

But Lawrence can't say any of this. There's only been one time when he was been able to speak his mind, to just scream what he wanted straight into the open air until he was drained and fell down on the floor to catch his breath.

Yes. That was the only time.

And then, he was terrified, he was cold, wet and panicking. And the only comfort he had was a corpse in the middle of the room. And an equally terrified Adam.

So Lawrence just says one, pitiful argument that he knows doesn't fit into Allison's ice-coated heart anyway:

"He loves her."

"I love her, too," Allison bites back. "And I don't want Diana to spend time with someone like that. If her picture of success is living in a tiny apartment with no one except her camera…"

Lawrence sighs heavily and grips the edge of the table with both hands, lets his head hang against his chest for a few seconds, thinks _keep it together, keep it together, _before he straightens his neck and looks Allison in the eye.

"Allison," he says slowly. "If you want Diana to spend time with the person that got me out of the bathroom, you shouldn't care about her being with Adam, because she loves him, too, and I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him."

Allison sighs theatrically and rolls her eyes, but Lawrence pretends not to notice it.

"And if you want to keep her away from whoever is to blame for me winding up in that bathroom," Lawrence continues, "you'd get papers on alone custody for me and sign with a smile on your face."

Now, Allison gets that look on her face again. Widened eyes, mouth that hangs open a little and reveals those teeth that have _absolutely _no lipstick on them, God forbid, because that would never happen to Allison Charlson, she'd never do something as insane as getting lipstick on her teeth, no, no, no.

She doesn't seem to be able to understand what he's just said. Lawrence can't blame her, since she's never heard him speak like this before, but he doesn't care, he's pleased with himself, because what he said is true. It was Allison's fault, all of it, her fault that he was miserable for almost half of his life, her fault that that purple, ugly scar still runs around his ankle.

"Get out of my apartment," Lawrence says calmly.

Allison seems too shocked to disagree. She just gets up, and her light little footsteps go further and further away until the door shuts behind her. Lawrence stretches himself in his chair and closes his eyes.

He doesn't have to look at his watch. He knows he'll see Adam in two hours, and the next morning, Adam will meet Diana, and she'll run up to him and hug his legs. Because they love each other, and there's nothing bad for any of them about it. No matter what Allison thinks.

In two hours, Lawrence will meet Adam, and they'll talk and laugh and drink beer.

Kind of like last night.

Lawrence smiles when a blurry picture of yesterday slides into his mind. He doesn't remember a lot, though… He was pretty drunk…

He hadn't had anything to do after Allison picked Diana up, so he'd driven around in the apartment like an animal in a cage for the whole day until he grabbed his jacket and went to Adam's place, uninvited.

Adam had looked up from the TV, surprised, when Lawrence walked in with Chinese food in his hands, but didn't question anything, just went to the fridge and got two beers. It turned out as quite a lot of those as the night proceeded.

So many that Lawrence hadn't even corrected Adam when he just poked his rice around with the chopsticks, but didn't eat anything. It had all almost been funny, Adam's anorexia, the memories from the bathroom, the bad comedies at the TV. Adam had been the same, they'd both been drunk and giggly, like tipsy teenage girls on Adam's worn-in couch.

Around ten, Lawrence had wiped the coffee table off while Adam did the dishes.

Lawrence's smile gets wider at that memory. Because that one is still fresh in his mind, behind a fog of alcohol, sure, but still completely clear, and just wonderful.

He remembers that he'd walked into the kitchen with the dishcloth in his hand. He remembers hanging it over the water tap, and that Adam had stood there, faltering slightly, with his sleeves rolled up and dishwater on his shirt, suds up to his elbows, and sent him a quick glance over his shoulder.

The glow from the TV that painted his dark hair in a pale, sallow color.

His slim fingers that ran over the wet silverware.

Lawrence hadn't been able to stay away from him. He almost walked out of the could of drunkenness when he walked up to Adam, slid his playful hands into his shirt and felt Adam stiffen when Lawrence pulled him closer, kissed him and stroked him until Adam squeezed his eyes shut with a quivering exhaling, turned around and threw the dish brush aside with a moan.

Lawrence moans, too, puts his hands over his face as those memories make an awfully inappropriate heat flood between his legs.

He'd pushed Adam up against the sink, almost violently, that animal side that alcohol always coaxes out of him made him even more eager than usual, and Adam's tiny hands on his face hadn't exactly helped, just made his head even more muddled, even more immobilized by that red, sparkling lust, and that's why his body took control, why he spread Adam's legs with his knee and pressed it against the bulge under his jeans.

Lawrence rakes his hand through his hair with a sigh as the sound of Adam's breath being caught in his throat sings through his head.

As he almost _feels_ Adam's fingers clench into his shoulders.

As he hears Adam's desperate growl when Lawrence's hands traveled down, went down his back underneath his shirt, circled his hips, pulled his fly down.

The rest of their actions are blurred. He remembers Adam's ragged breathing, his tongue that battled with Lawrence's for control, his mouth that sucked Lawrence's bottom lip until every trace of garlic sauce was gone and only small, red tooth marks were left. But that's enough. Hell, it's almost too much.

God.

Lawrence almost laughs and buries his face in his hands again.

_Adam, _he thinks lovingly and looks out the window next to him. _You just won't give me an honest chance, will you? _

_You don't even have to be here, you can just sit in your smoked-down apartment in a completely different place, with a beer, watching TV and refuse to eat. _

_That's all you need to do to turn me on. _

Lawrence smiles to himself and gets up to go to Diana.

And he promises himself that when Adam comes over tonight, he'll barely have time to take his shoes off.

**Damn… I've lost reviewers along the way of this baby, but I've gained readers, so what the hell. But those of you who still reviews, please do so now, too! **


	15. Aftermath

**A/N: YAY! Another chapter! (I know I say that in every chapter, but what the hell!) I'm not sure how long this fic will be… I love writing it so much, so it might reach twenty chapters if we're lucky! Anyway, this chapter has no smut, just what I do best: ANGST! **

**14: Aftermath**

Adam purrs in delight when Lawrence rakes his hand though his hair, downwards, over his neck, onto his chest.

He still does his best not to think about how the hell he got here.

He doesn't see a reason to give himself even more panic that he already has.

"Why did you take so long to get here?" Lawrence murmurs into Adam's neck, his breath is tickling and sends glittering little silk threads through Adam's nerve system.

"I didn't have any money for the bus," Adam mumbles with a yawn. "And hell knows it's a long walk to these fucking blocks…"

Lawrence hears an acid undertone in his voice, but he choices to ignore it.

Doesn't really want to hear the words that hang in the air:

_Because the society wants people like you and people like me to stay as far away from each other as possible._

Lawrence really worked up an anxiety while he waited for Adam. A little pathetic, sure. But Adam is addicting. Really.

When he got there, Lawrence had barely bothered going to the bedroom, just grabbed Adam's shoulders, those wonderfully slim, fragile shoulders, kissed him hotly, deeply, poured his compassion into him with lips and teeth and tongue. And it had led them here, spent, sweaty and gratified.

Lawrence knows this isn't something he should be doing. Or, at least this isn't something that anyone who knows him would expect him to do. Of course, the irony is pretty obvious to him, too. Lawrence has an affair with a man that not only is ten years younger than him, but also five hundred thousand dollars poorer, and that has been hired to prove that he had an affair. Almost funny. Especially considering that the transition happened over one single night.

One single kiss.

"It was probably just as well that you showed up late," Lawrence then says and once again draws his hand through those dark strands of hair that lies on his chest. "Allison dropped Diana off today, and it took quite a lot longer than it usually does."

Adam chuckles and closes his eyes.

"Yeah, she can't be that excited about seeing me," he says, actually completely without sarcasm this time.

Lawrence smiles faintly.

"I was mostly thinking about you."

"Me?" Adam says and lifts his head to scoot up to Lawrence's level on the bed. "I don't mind her. Or, I haven't even _met _the girl, but…"

His finishes the sentence with another yawn.

"Why did it take so long to drop off Diana?" He asks sleepily, and it's possible that he doesn't feel Lawrence freeze next to him.

He knew this would come to Adam's knowledge sooner or later. And if not, Lawrence has a certain obligation to tell him, hell, it's _him _that his and Allison's fight was all about_. _And it's not like Lawrence is going to do what Allison asked him to, but…

But Lawrence still can't keep the temperature in his blood from dropping drastically when Adam asks him this.

"Allison…" He mumbles, pauses and starts again. "Allison wanted to talk to me."

Adam scoffs, and Lawrence thinks that he can say whatever he wants, he still probably wouldn't have liked to meet her.

"She wanted even more of your money?"

Lawrence laughs.

"No, not that. She wanted something else this time."

"What was it?" Adam asks tiredly.

_Okay. Tell him now. Tell him now._

_He won't understand. But tell him now. _

"She wants to…" Lawrence begins.

_Tell him now._

"She wants to start things up again."

And afterwards.

The second afterwards, Adam straightens up, turns around and looks Lawrence in the eye, and Lawrence immediately wants to inhale the words that linger in the air between them, he wants to erase them completely, he wants to do whatever it takes to remove the sight of Adam's face.

The sight of everything they've built up, all the trust, all the friendship, all the confused, messy love, lying shattered between them.

"Oh…" Adam says slowly and lets his gaze drop.

"But I won't do that," Lawrence says hurriedly.

_Please, _the cold little voice in Adam's head says. _You don't believe that, do you? If you were stupid enough to think that he actually cared about you and _wouldn't _hurt you, fine, but this… _

Adam sees Allison for the first time.

He's one year younger and sees Allison for the first time when she walks out the door. He hides in the bushes and holds his camera in his sweaty hands.

Adam isn't here to see Allison. He's waiting for her husband so that he can take pictures of him, follow him to his job, go home, get paid.

But when he sees her, a thought still sneaks into his mind, a thought that gets past the greed, the desperation, the emotional numbness that he had to bring out to handle this job.

_Jesus Christ._

Because it's crazy. It's crazy that a person can be that beautiful, that casually elegant when she just picks up the newspaper, her hair ruffled, no makeup and wearing a silk robe.

And even now, one year later, when Adam is not only stupid enough to feel again, but also stupid enough to let his guard down, he's still smart enough to know that he'll never, _never _be able to compete with someone like that.

"Look, man," he says insecurely and slowly sits up, "if you want to get back to her…"

"Adam…"

"It's okay," Adam says, but he still doesn't have the courage to look at Lawrence. "Really. I get it…"

"Adam, I won't…"

"But you have a daughter," Adam starts again. "It'd be…"

"Adam, you stupid, stupid, stupid little thing," Lawrence cuts him off with laughter playing in his voice, sits up and puts both hands around Adam's face.

Adam grins uncertainly and sweeps his hands away, does a vein attempt to keep his dignity.

But he's already exposed.

Lawrence sees his fear. Adam knows that. And he knows that Lawrence knows.

But he still lies back down next to Lawrence, and feels that strong, safe hand running through his hair again.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Lawrence mumbles into his ear. "Here. With you. And there's no place I'd rather be."

_And not you, either, _the cold little voice says. _Why am I even wasting my time on you? _

Adam doesn't have an answer to that.

"By the way," he then says, partly to smooth over, partly because he actually wants to know, "Allison… After we… Got out of there…"

It's possible that Lawrence's hand stiffens, but maybe it's all in Adam's head.

"How long did it take for her to… Get over it?"

Lawrence chuckles. And now, the bitterness is way too obvious for Adam to be mistaken.

"Not long," he says. "Not long at all. It wasn't like I was disappointed or something, but when she asked me when I'd get back to work three days after I got out of the hospital… I was sort of wondering if I didn't mean more to her than that… You know?"

Adam chuckles, too. Just as bitterly as Lawrence.

"She's faking it, I promise," he says and touches the tips of the fingers in his hair coyly.

And the rest of the sentence just slips out.

Like Adam's been trying to hold it back ever since he met Lawrence, and can't do it anymore.

"That's exactly what I did when my brother died."

And once again, it's sort of a frozen moment afterwards.

A moment when Lawrence's hand slips down from Adam's head. A moment when Adam doesn't even imagine Lawrence's widened eyes because he's busy squeezing his own eyes shut and think _fuck, fuck, fuck, _busy feeling his blood boiling and freezing at the same time until Lawrence speaks up again.

"What did you say?"

Adam clears his throat.

"Nothing."

"Your brother?" Lawrence repeats. "He died? Is that why you don't see him anymore?"

"Stop it," Adam mutters and does a weak effort to repress the memories that rise back to the surface.

"Adam," Lawrence says and moves his hand down to Adam's arm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I have to tell you everything?" Adam hisses.

He sits up on the edge of the bed.

And now, the memories are so strong that he almost sees Jerry lying in that puddle of blood on the floor in front of him.

"No," Lawrence says with a sigh behind him. "You don't have to tell me everything. But I know you, Adam, and I assume it's safe to say that you haven't talked to anyone else since it happened. So I think it'd be good for you."

_Are you going to talk to him, Adam? _The cold little voice says. _Are you going to accept his help again?_

Adam wasn't going to.

But now, it's another one of those times – a time that Lawrence mere presence seem to cause – when a simple, physical need overcomes Adam's pride, his fear, his old pains. So the words get past his lips, slowly and insecurely, fresh and vulnerable, trembling and careful.

"It was a long time ago," he mutters. "I was fourteen. And he just…"

He pauses. Lawrence doesn't say a word.

"He killed himself. Cut his wrists open. With a razor."

And it stays silent.

Adam's word hangs between them, like dust in the air that slowly settles in the broken pieces of Lawrence's stunned silence, slowly, slowly, until he can talk again.

"Adam… God…"

"Come on," Adam says with a nervous chuckle and turns around. "Don't give me that look… It's not like he died yesterday, or something…"

"No, but…"

Lawrence opens and closes his mouth, he has absolutely no idea what he should say, and the fact that Adam looks like he doesn't want him to say anything just makes it harder.

Adam turns around again. His back is facing Lawrence, because he can't, he _can't_ see him like this.

He can't see all the memories return.

He can't see the shadow that draws across his face, the shadow that has always been there and that he's spent the past fourteen years trying to hold back.

He can't see the sequence that gets acted out in Adam's eyes, the sequence of a pale, black-haired boy that walks into a bathroom, and by this, gets condemned to nightmares for the rest of his life.

Without even thinking about it, Adam lays a hand over his mouth.

Shit.

He had forgotten.

He'd actually managed to forget.

He'd actually managed to block out the memories of Jerry's pale face, of the blood that shone from the white tiles, the horrible, glistening, raw wounds on Jerry's wrists, the razor in his bloodless hands, reflecting the light.

"Adam…"

Adam startles when he feels a hand on his shoulder again.

"Relax," he mutters. "I'm fine. A lot of people don't see their brothers, it's not like…"

"Yeah, but you… You told me… He was all you had!"

"Yeah, but… Hell, Lawrence, that was fourteen years ago…"

"I know. But he's your brother."

"He _was_ my brother."

"Adam…"

"Fuck, stop it!" Adam suddenly hisses and shakes Lawrence's hand off. "I'm not a sissy, I don't…"

_You know what you're doing now, Adam?_ The cold voice says. _You try to convince yourself. Not Lawrence._

And then it cracks.

Everything.

No, not everything. But the part of the wall that Adam wants to hide behind so badly, the part of the wall that was built by the fact that Adam more than anything wants to pretend that Jerry didn't mean anything to him, comes down, it crumbles with a violent rumbling that sends mortar dust flying, and Adam can't keep talking.

You can't talk with a closed throat.

And so, his shoulder start to shake, the hand over his mouth is clenched, but it still can't suppress the sobs, suppress the tears from fourteen lonely, terrible, black years, and Adam hates himself when he notices how good it feels, how wonderful the pain is when it gnaws his chest, since the pain still is real, it's true, and it will be there for a long time. Maybe forever.

And in a weird way, that's still a liberation.

It has to hurt.

It has to hurt because he loves him.

And it's much of a liberation as it is when Lawrence moves closer to him on the bed, puts both arms around his waist, breaths warmly and comforting on his neck, rocks him back and forth, and the tears are streaming down Adam's face, the sobs burns when they find a way up his closed-down throat.

"It's okay, Adam," Lawrence mumbles and kisses Adam's ear.

"I…"

Adam has to cut himself off to let another sob tear over his throat.

"Lawrence…" He sniffles and draws a hand over his eyes. "I… I found him…

Lawrence tightens his grip around him, warms him up from the in- and the outside, and keeps whispering in his ear.

"It's okay… God, Adam, it's okay… It'll be okay…"

They don't say anything else after that.

Adam can't do it. He'll never be able to tell Lawrence everything, even though there's so much more that he hasn't said yet.

Adam doesn't tell him what he meant when he said that thing in the bathroom.

_"Lawrence, I have a family, too! I don't see them, that's my mistake! It's a mistake I'd like to fix!"_

He doesn't explain that he, in a moment of horror and despair that actually was even bigger than the one he felt when he found Jerry, actually managed to forget that he was dead.

Just for those last hours in the bathroom, Adam got a chance to believe that Jerry would be there when he got out, that he'd do that crooked smile and hug Adam, tight, tight, so tight that he actually could to think that nothing could hurt him.

And he doesn't tell Lawrence about the main reason to why he'll never, never be able to ask for help again, never dare to rely on anyone.

He doesn't tell him about the time when he walked into his mother's bedroom, exhausted, wringed out with sorrow, and looked in her nightstand after the anti-depressants he knew she kept there.

He doesn't say anything about the note from Jerry that he found there. The note he wasn't meant to see.

_Mom._

_I've killed myself. It'll already be done by the time you read this. _

_It wasn't your fault. You're just not cut out for being a mom. And I can't raise Adam alone._

Can't raise Adam alone.

Can't have an annoying little kid clinging to my leg.

I have a life to live. Myself to take care of.

Can't raise Adam alone.

And when Adam allows himself to be rocked to sleep, comforted like a child, slowly softening and melting in Lawrence's arms, he's never felt more at peace with the world.

But in the same time, he's so scared, so dreadfully, dreadfully scared that Lawrence will feel like Jerry did.

**God knows I love Adam, but he can be such an idiot sometimes! Anyway, please review! **


	16. Out In The Open

**A/N: ****Hello, my darlings! Sorry if I'm overloading you with updates, but… I'm on a holiday! I can't even blame homework when I haven't updated in ages anymore! Anyway, there's a new chapter right here, and it's angst for the damn hell of it! **

**15: Out In The Open **

Adam moans softly and puts his head in his hands.

He's alone. Again. Lawrence will be over in a moment, but for the first time, the first time in four months, he doesn't want him here.

Because he's afraid.

By _God, _he's so afraid.

He's so afraid that he'll tell him something else. Because he's already told him too much, a part of his wall has fallen, the rest of it will do so any second now and he feels it, but he'll detain that moment as long as he can, as long as it's physically possible.

_And why did you tell him anything at all? _The cold little voice says. _The _first _part of that wall you're talking about would still be there if you'd used your head. Because it _has _happened before, and it _will _happen again if you don't get your act together. Jerry hurt you even though he promised he never would. And Lawrence will, too. It gets easier for him to do so for with every little part of yourself you rely on him. _

Adam nods.

"I know. It was a damn stupid thing to do, okay? Happy now?"

The voice scoffs. Adam doesn't even try to retort.

But he knows it's right.

Jerry hurt him. And if Adam hadn't gone out and drunken with him every weekend, and more than anything, if he hadn't _talked _to him about how he felt, how their mom's depression had affected him, how it made him want to look through her medicine cabinet until he found those antidepressants and flushed them down the toilet, he'd been sad when Jerry died, sure. But he hadn't felt… That way.

It hadn't felt like a cold, cold hand took a hold on his heart, squeezed it tightly, harshly, mercilessly, until blood seeped between the pale fingers and nothing but scraps was left.

And it's even worse with Lawrence. Adam knows that.

He's talked to Lawrence about the worst two things that's ever happened to him. His heart is in his open palm, lays there, pounding. And the only thing Lawrence has to do is to make a fist, and it's over. Thank you, goodbye.

Adam gets up in some sort of half-conscious condition and walks into the kitchen. When he opens the fridge, he almost gets surprised when he sees an exact similar bag of bread to the one he had in here the day he met Lawrence again.

"Well, we're just going to have to hope it's not the same bag," he says lowly, completely without humor and not sure about whom he's talking to, and picks up a slice of the bread.

And then, there's that hole in his stomach again.

When he sees the bread in his hand, that hole comes back.

Over the last few months, that hole has slowly been replaced with a feeling of numbness, but now, his stomach is churned, the hole returns, it screams in reluctance and a silently grinding pain when he takes a bite.

Adam swallows. That hurts, too.

_Pussy. Jigsaw wanted you to play that game because you're a pussy. Because he knew you'd entertain him._

_Food is the reason you were in that bathroom, Adam. _

Adam doesn't even have to put his fingers into his mouth this time. The food barely manages to reach his abdomen before it goes back up, gooey chunks that rise in his throat, and he has to put his hand over his mouth to gain the time to run to the bathroom before he throws up the bread, throws up his guilt, and gets filled with that sick, childish joy again.

The voice has told him this before.

And yet, no matter how many times he hears it, no matter how far from the truth it is, it will never stop hurting.

Will never stop filling him with disgust over himself. Over that occasional slice of bread.

"Look, Adam," Adam says and leans his back against the toilet, reaches one of his hands up to flush and the other one to get the toothbrush and toothpaste from the sink. "You're not completely worthless, after all."

He brushes his teeth sloppily, spits into the toilet and stands up.

"You have the brains to know when to throw up," he says and pats himself on the shoulder as he walks back into the living room. "You did so well, honey."

Then he laughs hollowly.

What a worthless little piece of shit he is.

He sits down on the couch and wraps his arms around himself. His skin is pricking, the hairs on his arms rise up as he shivers. It's cold in here.

_No, it's not._

"Shut up," Adam hisses, rubs his upper arms with his hands, tries to make his teeth stop rattling. "It's cold. Or I'm getting sick or something."

_Adam, how many fucking times do I have to tell you this? _The voice sighs. _You _are _sick. In fact, you've been sick for the past three years. You've just gotten worse over these past moths, that's all. _

Adam shakes his head.

He isn't anorexic.

He isn't anorexic.

"Adam?"

The door is opened with a _click, _and Adam startles, looks up to see Lawrence walk in. He furrows his brows when he sees Adam on his couch with his arms around himself.

"Adam, are you alright?"

Adam nods, even though his teeth are still chattering, it sounds like when you drum your nails against a table.

"Mm," he says and nods again. "It's just…"

He looks Lawrence in the eye. And he's not sure if he manages to keep the pleading out of his gaze.

"It's so _cold…"_

Lawrence looks at him.

Adam is anorexic. He knows that. And he will tell Adam this, he will make him get help.

But any heart would melt when those reluctantly begging eyes looked into its own.

Lawrence will help Adam. But he doesn't need that right now.

Right now, Adam needs someone to comfort him. Not to correct him.

So Lawrence walks up to him, sits down on the couch and wraps his arms around him. He feels the little body tense against his own at first, like in a half-hearted attempt to act contradictory, before it sort of melts, just like the other night, forms after Lawrence, sucks in the breath that streams warmly against his neck.

Adam closes his eyes for a brief second against Lawrence's chest.

Those moments when he doesn't have to think. He has to relish them.

But after a while, he still pushes Lawrence away and straightens up. His gaze flutters slightly.

"How's it going?" He asks and rakes his hand through his hair.

"I'm good," Lawrence says without taking his hand off Adam's leg. "But how are you? Why are you so cold?"

Adam gets something harsh in his eyes when he puts them back on Lawrence.

Always this pride.

"Why?" He mutters and throws his hand out lazily. "It's cold."

Lawrence shakes his head. It's coming now, he can feel it, and it wasn't even something he planned.

"No, it's not," he says with a sharp undertone. "Not if you have any fat on your body at all."

Adam bores his gaze even deeper into Lawrence's.

Allows the anger in it to hide the fear. Because now, he's even more afraid than he was before Lawrence came over.

Lawrence brings it up now. He brings up a subject that he's never dared to admit to himself and that he never wanted to talk to him about.

"What are you saying?"

Lawrence takes a deep breath. The nervousness throbs against his temples, soughs in his head, but he has to say it now. Has to.

"Adam, you're anorexic."

He has to work to get the words past his lips.

Adam looks like someone's hit him. There's another one of those afterwards-moments, where everything freezes, Lawrence's words linger between them, Adam's face is completely opened up and naked before it's slammed shut, his eyes turn into slits, his defensive side returns and he stands up.

"Anorexic?" He hisses.

His tiny fists tremble along his sides.

"I look like a fucking teenage girl to you?!"

Lawrence gets up, too. He expected Adam to react like this, even though he didn't expect himself to say it right now, but it still sends a light sting jolting through his heart.

Adam isn't supposed to be this way.

Adam is supposed to be sarcastic, fidgeting, he's supposed to sit on the couch with a beer and drop acid comments about what's on TV, he's supposed to search for Lawrence's mouth with his insecure lips, his cold hands are supposed to find a way up to Lawrence's hair.

That's how he's supposed to be.

Not like this.

_And whose fault is it that he is this way? _The little voice in his head says.

And it's right. But Lawrence has more important things to think about right now.

"No, you don't," He says and takes a step up to Adam. "You look like a twenty-seven year-old that should know better than to starve himself, but that still doesn't."

Adam scoffs. And yet, Lawrence sees something uncertain in his eyes before they drop to the floor.

"_Starve _myself?" He says bitterly. "Fuck, Lawrence, I knew that you were a sucker for drama, but seriously…"

"Seriously?" Lawrence cuts him off. "Adam, I think we've been to a restaurant… Four times together. And I think we've ordered takeout five times, at _least. _But I haven't seen you eating _once."_

Adam still doesn't look at him. Maybe Lawrence's arguments have gotten too true for him to shrug them off by now, but that doesn't mean he's not going to try.

No. Adam recovers from his momentarily fallback quicker than Lawrence thought him capable of, he's already back on his feet, throws out careless punches without bothering to check where they hit.

But he can't hit too hard. No matter how much he tries.

The thing is that he's hitting on someone he cares about. And not even Adam, who's blocked bad things out for all his life, can block that fact out.

"Okay," he says, tries to sound annoyed, but mostly sounds insecure. "Maybe I don't eat as fucking much as you healthy fucking doctors do…"

"You don't have to be a doctor to see this," Lawrence says. "You like a damn skeleton, Adam."

Adam sends him a dark glance.

"Well, then, why don't find another damn toyboy, Lawrence," he sputters out with pressure on every syllable. "A handsome, rich, guy like you, you don't have to hang out with me. You'll find a new one in a heartbeat."

Some of Lawrence's desperation goes away. One of his hands, those hands that are so desperate to undo everything that goes wrong, lands on Adam's shoulder.

"I didn't mean it like that," he says, slightly calmer now. "I'm not saying this to mess with you, Adam. I'm saying this because I care about you… I…"

The words get stuck in his throat, gather up into a lump, like he's tried to say too much, even though this is something he should've said long ago. But he won't cry.

He'll make Adam understand. That's more important than anything else right now. He can cry later.

Adam gives him one single look. And that's enough to make Lawrence pull his hand back like he's burned himself.

"You don't have to say anything," Adam says, with hatred dribbling from every word, "because it's _not your fucking problem, _okay? If I'd get anorexic, I'd let you know, but…"

"No, you wouldn't," Lawrence says, angrier than what's really necessary. "You didn't accept help when your brother died, right? Why would you do it when you have anorexia?"

"Fuck, stop saying that!" Adam blurts out. "I'm _not _anorexic! And why the hell would you care? You've got your big job, you've got a daughter, you… What fucking difference is it to you if I eat or not?"

Lawrence closes his eyes in a second of defeat.

_No. There can't be that much left._

_He can't think that he's just a fling. He can't think that I don't care about him. _

_He can't think that. There can't be that much of his pride left. _

That's what he's thinking. But in the meantime, when he opens his mouth again, he can't really bring himself to tell Adam how much he means to him.

"Because I _care _about you," he says, a lot calmer now. "You're my best friend, my…"

"Booty call?" Adam interrupts, and his words are laced with venom, acid that eats away at Lawrence's heart.

"No!" Lawrence says pleadingly and takes a step closer to him. "I was going to say 'boyfriend,' but it sounds so damn girly, but… You are. No matter how girly it sounds."

Adam's face softens a little. But it's obvious that it happens without his accord.

"I care about you," Lawrence says again. "And I just think it's such a waste that you're… That you're just sitting in here, when you still have dreams and ambitions and stuff… And your life just fades away, you're still young, you're supposed to… You're supposed to be out there, you're not supposed to waste your life, you're supposed to love it…"

Lawrence just manages to catch a glimpse of it.

How all the reluctance and all the anger that disappeared from Adam's eyes return with even more, mix with fear, fear that can only be coaxed out from the inner, deepest core of his memories, the fear that lays in seeing the person you care about most in the world, the only person you trust, the only person you can let your guard down for, even if it's only the tiny bit that's necessary to see the real Adam shining through the wall of sarcasms and repressed fear, turn into the person that's dead but that still returns in your worst, worst nightmares.

That's the only thing Lawrence can see before the palm hits his face.

It doesn't hurt that much. Adam is weak, he hasn't eaten anything that he hasn't thrown up for all day, and no matter how much he hates himself for it, he _does_ care about Lawrence. But Lawrence still has to startle at the burning feeling on his cheek, and stare at Adam in shock.

Adam stares back at him. His eyes are sharp little needles, stings into Lawrence's face, tears rise in them, and Adam doesn't try to stop them. Maybe he doesn't notice them.

"Sure," he says in a shaky voice. "I'm wasting my life. Bad Adam."

He's quiet for a few seconds, and now, he has to notice the tears, because he angrily draws a fist over his eyes.

"Because you shouldn't waste your life," he continues, his voice is creaking, trembling, turns fragile, falls apart. "You're supposed to use your time on earth well. Love yourself. _Cherish your life."_

He pronounces every word like it's a terrible curse, and it's not until now that Lawrence hears what he just said.

And even though Adam just hit him, he feels like the worst person in the world.

It's not just Adam's voice that's falling apart.

Everything has fallen down. It was a building, fragile and new, even after all it's been through, it was still so easily crumbled, you just had to nudge it, and it would turn into a pile of rotting wood on the ground.

And that's what Lawrence just did.

Because everything up until now has been about making Adam believe that he deserves better, that no one except Jigsaw would be evil enough to hurt someone like him, that he has to swallow his pride, simply because he'd done nothing to be locked up in that place that condemned him to being afraid for the rest of his life.

And Lawrence just quoted him. Quoted the reason to Adam's nightmares, quoted that raspy voice that runs through Adam's head those nights when he can't sleep.

No excuse in the world can fix that.

"Don't you have any fucking idea of who you sound like?" Adam says, stares angrily at him through a shell of moisture over his eyes.

Lawrence takes a step towards him. It's fallen down, it has, but he has to fix it, he has to…

"Adam…" He begins, begging, fumbling. "Adam, I…"

Adam shakes his head angrily.

"Shut up," he says and throws his arm out against the door. "Go. Just go."

Lawrence reaches out an unsure hand against him. Shaking, carefully, desperately, for the best thing that's ever happened to him, something he'll never be able to live without, ever again.

"I…"

"No," Adam says, hovers back a little when he sees the hand that moves towards him. "Just go."

Then he returns to the couch. He only hears Lawrence close the door behind him, and he has to draw his hand over his eyes way too often, and it has to be the gust of wind from the closing door, or some gas that irritates the eyes has leaked out from the pipes in the bathroom, because Adam Faulkner doesn't cry.

**Dum dum dum… There seems to be a downfall for my sweethearts at the moment. But if you review, I just might make things better! **


	17. I'm Not Alright

**A/N: YAY! ****Another update! Sorry if I'm flooding you guys or something, but I've been away… And even though I couldn't post it, I wrote a **_**lot. **_**And now, here we go, with chapter sixteen… And ANGST! **

**16: I'm Not Alright**

One week.

Adam hasn't been without Lawrence for that long since they started seeing each other. And when they actually did see each other, when Adam started meeting someone besides his own cold little voice regularly, he remembers that the first thing that struck him was how fast time went by. Or, more correctly, it moved forward in a normal speed. Didn't drag itself ahead in his apartment like a wounded animal.

But now.

Lawrence is gone.

And time has never, never, never moved forward slower than now.

And going with it has never been harder. Because that razor that's laying on Adam's sink is suddenly so tempting, the antidepressants in his bathroom cabinet have never tasted better, and they've never made a smaller effect when he grabs the red little can, puts it to his lips and tilts his head back. Feels the little capsules melt on his tongue and leave their disgusting flavor like a thick layer over his palate.

_You've become your mom, _the cold little voice says.

Adam pretends not to hear it.

The pills aren't good. And they don't help. Time doesn't go quicker, the only thing that reminds Adam that it still plunges ahead outside his window is the beginning and the end of the shows on the TV that he still won't turn off.

And no pills in the world can get Lawrence back.

Adam rubs his temples as he sits on the couch. The fake laughs on the sitcom in front of him give him a headache. And he doesn't dare to switch it off, either, because when he turns of the TV, it turns into a bathtub, the laughter turns into Lawrence's screams, the floor turns into stained tiles, his shirt gets wet and he shakes, shivers, maybe it's the fear instead of the cold, but it really doesn't matter. The gist is still there, like a big, flashing message in red letters on the screen:

The bathroom was better.

Adam chuckles, joins the people on the TV, and leans his head back.

It's fucking worse than the bathroom.

Because now, not even Lawrence is here to comfort him.

_You said nothing could be worse than the bathroom. _

Adam nods.

"I was wrong."

_No, you weren't. You deserved being in the bathroom, but you didn't learn anything from it, so technically, it was pointless. This is for the best._

Now, Adam shakes his head.

"Like hell it is."

_This isn't for the best?_

"No."

_Why not? You won't get hurt again this way. I always said that what happened with Jerry would happen again with Lawrence, and I was right. Now that you've made the same mistake twice, maybe we can start hoping that you're going to learn from it. In what way would that not be for the best?_

Adam shakes his head again. And now, those damn tears well up again, Adam Faulkner doesn't cry, but he cries now, simply because he has to realize it.

Realize that the reason this is worse than the bathroom is that going in there wasn't his fault.

But this doesn't have to be this way.

This doesn't have to hurt.

If he allows it to feel good, it can.

"He… He didn't have to go…" Adam chokes out between hammering teeth and wraps his arms around himself. "He could've stayed…"

It's hard to sob between chattering teeth, but now, it gets so horribly cold again, he folds his legs beneath him, shudders in his big t-shirt, searches for the warmth that he doesn't have himself and that only Lawrence can give him.

_And why would he? Why would he stay with you? You couldn't have been together forever, since it's the twentieth century, so sooner or later, one of you would've gotten bored and left, and then, you'd feel like this anyway. Why wouldn't it be better to do it now, when you haven't known him for too long? Why wouldn't this be for the best?_

Adam shakes his head again violently and draws his thumb under one eye. The crying gives him even more headache. And the fact that he hasn't eaten or slept for the whole week, this _fucking goddamn week, _doesn't help much.

"Because…" He begins, sobs and shivers and begins again. "Because… The best… Wouldn't feel this way…"

Not even the cold little voice has an immediate response to this.

"The best wouldn't… Hurt…" Adam stutters out.

The voice laughs cruelly.

_But why don't you call him, then? You know his number like the back of your hand, and you're obviously head over heels in love with him. Just get off your ass and call him. _

The voice has hit a soar spot, and it knows that. Adam's crying gets even harder, he rocks back and forth on the voice like a child that's just woken up from a nightmare.

Even though a child usually has someone to rock it. It doesn't have to do it itself.

But Adam has to. For the same reason that he can't get up and call Lawrence.

He doesn't dare to let anyone else touch him. Because Adam is strong, he's just as strong as he wants to be even though he can't see it through the fog of self-hatred, but he's stupid. And he's scared.

He's so awfully, awfully scared of loving.

He's so awfully scared that he doesn't even dare to realize that it's actually worth it, that it's worth that lifetime of misery that lies before him. Just because he got to be in love, he got to feel friendship and passion and unconditional, overwhelmingly big love for once in his life.

_Instead of thinking about how hard this is for little you, why don't you think about how good this is for _him? The voice interrupts, annoyed. _You know that Allison wanted him back. Now, when you're not clinging to him, maybe he can marry her again without feeling guilty. Do what's best for Diana. And for him. _

Adam stops crying so abruptly that it feels like the tears freeze on their way down his cheeks.

Allison.

Fuck. He'd actually forgotten about her for a while.

He'd forgotten what options Lawrence had. Forgotten about that perfect creature on the stairs, in her silk robe and ruffled hair.

Forgotten that she could wipe him out without even trying.

Of course Lawrence is back with her.

Of course he's with her right now.

Adam swallows. But he can't swallow that terrible sequence that's acted out in his head, his jealousy's worst pornography, in slow motion under his skull.

Allison's tiny hands on Lawrence's body.

Her slim fingers that unbuttons his shirt.

Her polished nails that rakes over his back.

His hands in her hair. His hands that travel down her body, towards her blouse.

Lawrence's moans. The ones that's scorched into Adam's brain and that will never go away, a torture that's worse than food because he can't throw it up, memories that are forever burned into his flesh.

Lawrence's moans. That deep, vibrating tone that rises from his chest when Adam finds his lips with his own, travels through his mouth and into Adam's, trickles down his throat and lays down in his stomach like a steady fire.

Lawrence's lips pressed against Allison's. The lips that's been upon Adam's, claimed them as their own simply because they knew that Adam is the only person in the world that would never forget them, the only one that's so miserably lonely that he'd remember them for the rest of his life.

So miserably lonely that he plagues himself with those lips even after they're gone.

Adam doesn't have to put his fingers down his throat this time, either. The movie in his head is enough to send a wave of nausea through his dreadfully empty stomach, to make him run to the bathroom, drop to his knees in front of the toilet and throw up, throw up even though it really is impossible to throw up memories, throw up until he huddles up into a ball on the floor with chattering teeth and only sour gall is in the toilet above him.

xxxxxxxxxxx

For the first time since Lawrence got divorced, he's actually happy that Diana is with Allison.

No child deserves to see her father this way.

Lawrence has called sick from work. He loves being a doctor, but he can't go to the hospital like this.

How are you supposed to save lives when you just want your own to go away, dissolve into the air like smoke?

When a part of yourself that you've gotten used to, like a hand or a nose, suddenly is torn away and you bleed to death without anyone noticing?

_You've done it once, doctor Gordon, _the little voice in his head says.

Lawrence wriggles the toes on his left foot doubtfully.

Yes. He's done it once. He's done it once, and then, he even chose it himself. Did it himself.

But that part came back. He was whole again. For a little while.

But he'd rather have no left foot than having no Adam.

He feels it now. Realizes it now.

That entire part of his soul that belonged to Adam, the part that he shared a bond with that no one else has, screams with its absence like he knows that Adam's stomach screams for food.

The only difference is that Lawrence acknowledges this remorse. He acknowledges that this part of him is missing, that he needs it to survive.

And that's why he should be the one who fixes it.

Maybe it's this though. The thought about Adam is hardly news for him, Lawrence hasn't thought about anything else for the past week, the last four months, but maybe it's the thought about Adam's anorexia that makes Lawrence get up and look at the door.

Adam.

Adam needs his help.

Adam has needed his help since they met. And even before that. But he'd never admit it. Especially not now, when they've just had a fight.

But Lawrence still suddenly knows, without being able to explain how, that Adam needs it more than ever.

So he gets up, grabs his keys from the table, hurries out the door and puts his jacket on over his pajamas on his way out.

Sometimes, it's so nice not being able to explain anything.

**Short and angsty… But I still need you to review! Also, a quick explanation on the chapter title: Aside from the fact that both Adam and Lawrence are anything but alright in this chapter, I'm Not Alright is a song by Sanctus Real… And if you'd listen to the lyrics of it, you'd understand. It's my eternal soundtrack of Adam! **


	18. Bridge Over Troubled Water

**A/N: ****Damn… Seems like this fic is coming to a close, huh? They need to stop doing that without my permission! But will I grant you a happy ending? Well, read and find out… **

**17: Bridge Over Troubled Water**

He's lying there, just like Lawrence suspected.

When he opens the unlocked door to Adam's apartment – apparently the suffering he's been through this past week has even overcome his paranoia – he walks straight into the bathroom, since the same weird feeling that told him that Adam was in trouble tells him that he's in there. And he is.

Adam is on the bathroom floor, so tightly rolled up into a ball and so thin, so awfully thin that Lawrence barely sees him, but he's there, he's alive and he breaths, very poorly, the chest under the too big t-shirt quivers up and down, almost spasmodically, but he's breathing.

Though he looks absolutely miserable.

Lawrence has to do his best to keep from crying when he sees the gray shadows under his eyes, his color-drained face, the layer of sweat on his face. He can't cry, he doesn't have the _time _to cry, he only has the time to lift Adam up and carry him to his bed.

He's so light.

He doesn't weigh anything. And he doesn't move, either, his heart doesn't beat, it's _ticking,_ pitifully and desperately, like a fragile little bird's heart against Lawrence's chest before he puts him down on the mattress.

_This is its culmination, _Lawrence thinks and strokes Adam's cheek.

He knew that Adam was skinny. He knew that he had anorexia, but in the same time, he's thought of it in the same way as Adam, he's filled his mind with dreadfully naïve it's-not-for-real-he'll-get-better-soon-if-I'm-patient.

But it's not like that.

Lawrence knows what happens. Knows what it means when he suddenly _sees _Adam's cheekbones shine through his skin, hears his weak breathing.

Why hasn't he seen that before? Has he just chosen not to?

Either way, this is the culmination of the anorexia. This is as bad as it gets.

_He is going to die, Lawrence. _

_You've seen the diagnoses. You even have a friend on the department of treatment of eating disorders, you've heard what he says to his patients. _

"_Food is what helps your cell combustion. If that stops, you'll stop growing. Your blood will be thinned, your heart will have a harder time circulating it. Eventually, it won't be able to do it anymore." _

xxxxxxxxxxx

It's like someone reaches into Adam's unconsciousness with careful arms.

Someone that tears him out of his temporary defeat. One of those moments when his disease and his pride gets too much. Even for him.

He doesn't really feel it. Technically, he's still unconscious.

He doesn't really feel one arm being put under his legs and another one around his back, how he's lifted up and then how he sinks into the worn mattress on his bed.

But he knows it's there. Somehow.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence shakes Adam's shoulder.

"Adam," he mumbles and almost manages to keep his voice together. "Adam, wake up."

Adam doesn't move. Lawrence can't keep himself from panicking slightly just because of that.

"Adam," he says a little louder, shakes a little harder. "Wake up! Adam!"

Adam whimpers, his entire body retracts and his hand subconsciously creeps up to his chest. But he's awake. He's not dead.

Not yet.

Adam squints against the light and turns to Lawrence.

"It hurts," he squeaks, like a baby, and presses his hand against that place where his heart ticks.

The tears behind Lawrence's eyes push even harder.

_Jesus. The kid weighs as much as a cat, he'll _die _if he doesn't start eating soon, and he still has someone who loves him, someone that would tie him up and force the food into his mouth if he had to… _

_And still. _

_Only now. Only when he's merely half aware of what he's saying, when he's just woken up after passing out. _

_Only then can he say that he's in pain. _

"You have such thinned blood," Lawrence says. "Your heart has to work so hard to circulate it. Soon, it would be able to do it anymore."

Adam grunts something and sits up. His reality, his stupid fucking reality, seems to come back to him.

"Why are you here?"

The Adam that sat on his couch and cried a few hours ago seems to be long gone.

Lawrence shrugs.

"I just had a feeling that you didn't feel well. Or that you felt _worse. _So I thought I'd stop by."

Adam quickly discerns the pressure on the word 'worse.' But he doesn't get nearly as upset as Lawrence thought. He just sits up on the edge of his bed, and Lawrence hears him chuckle bitterly as he shakes his head.

"Fuck, are we doing this again?"

Before Lawrence manages to answer, he looks around.

"Where are my cigarettes?"

Lawrence sighs.

"You shouldn't smoke."

"No, mother," Adam says calmly and sits up.

Lawrence follows him to the living room. Adam sits down on the couch and looks up at him.

"Are you going to tell me why you're actually here?" Adam asks coolly and lifts up some papers on the coffee table to look underneath them.

Lawrence slowly opens his mouth.

"It's true that I went here because I thought you weren't feeling well. But I also came here to say…"

He makes a pause.

Here it comes.

And it won't make Adam happy at all. He knows this, but Lawrence feels oddly calm.

"Believe me," Lawrence says with a chuckle and shakes his head. "I've really tried to feel bad about what I said. But… I'm sorry. I can't."

Adam gives him a dark look.

"So you came here to tell me that you're _not _sorry?" He says and lowers his gaze again. "That's classy, man."

Lawrence doesn't reply right away. Adam seems to take this as some sort of approval, because he powerlessly throws his hand out against the door.

"Can you leave now?"

Lawrence shakes his head again.

"No. I can't. Let me finish, Adam. You have to trust me: Not one single day goes by without me wishing that we hadn't gotten in there. That I hadn't shot you. You know that. But…"

They well up. Tears. God damn it.

He has to say this. He has to get this out. Without crying.

"If that's what it takes for you to understand how important your life is," Lawrence continues, with a slightly thicker voice now, "if not to yourself, then to me… I promise, I'll drag you back to that bathroom and put you back into your chain. If that's what it takes for you to realize it."

Adam scoffs. It sounds just as mocking as usual, but Lawrence still notes that he doesn't dare to look at him again.

"We've been over this," he says. "Are you ever going to stop think of yourself as some damn rescuer, Lawrence? You don't have to take care of me. I'm an adult, for God's sake!"

It already sounds a little too pleadingly. And Lawrence hears it, too.

"I know you are," Lawrence says. "And you can say that how many times you want, but right now, you _need _someone to take care of you! You have _anorexia, _Adam! You'll _die _if you don't get help!"

"Well, right now, that doesn't seem like such a bad idea," Adam hisses. "Or are you planning to follow me down to the grave to nag about my so-called fucking anorexia, too?"

He tries to walk past Lawrence, tries to get away from that thing that takes the brilliance away from his loneliness, that constant reminder of how wonderful life can be if he just _allows _it, that thing that grabs his collar, forces open the eyes that are sealed shut by stubbornness and repressed sorrow and screams into his face _just look look at how FUCKING GREAT YOU COULD HAVE IT. _

He tries to walk away. But Lawrence grabs his shoulder with completely different hands then the ones he used to stroke Adam's cheek. Adam is too surprised to fight back and he wouldn't be able to even if he tried, he's weak and Lawrence is angry, his begging has turned into a burning frustration that pushes Adam up against the wall next to his couch and roughly puts his hand into his shirt.

"Can't you feel it, Adam?"

Lawrence's voice isn't his own anymore, it's gone from that outraged pleading that dribbles with tears to a low growling, something that sneaks in under Adam's skin along with his hand, something that forces him to see himself, small, pale, naked and shivering, like a child that's gotten up from a bath and stands in merciless light on white tiles and waits for a warm towel.

Adam has to look at himself.

Because he feels Lawrence's touch way too clearly, feels every brush over his ribs, feels every fingertip that makes his abdomen twitch in something that almost feels like cramp, like a turtle that pulls back into his shell.

"Can't you feel how thin you are?" Lawrence says, lowly, intensely, while his hand strokes over Adam's stomach. "You don't get a damn _bit _stronger by doing this, Adam, you just get…"

"STOP IT!" Adam yells and uses his last powers to push Lawrence away.

He hates him.

Right now, he hates him, loves him, needs him and hates him even more for that. Because when he's here, Adam has to see himself, has to see past the wall he's built around himself.

That wall that's kept him from seeing everything but the good things about his refusal to eat.

The wall showed him pride, strength, independence, stamina.

He didn't have to see the bad things. He got away from seeing it for so long that he actually forgot it.

He didn't have to see all the times he passed out, with the air in his apartment heavy with cigarette smoke.

He didn't have to see all the times he threw up even though his stomach was completely empty.

He didn't have to see all the times he woke up by a paramedic that leaned over him and slapped his face gently.

He didn't have to see the headache, the nails that fell apart, the lack of sleep, the nausea.

And now, he has to. The memories are stirred up inside him now, and that that's why he hates Lawrence, he hates him because he, just by standing in front of him with a mix of annoyance, despair and desperation in his eyes, takes everything that was good about not eating away, he takes away all the synthetic happiness that the anorexia gave him.

And then, he has nothing left.

The only thing he has left is the thing he now pushes away with all the powers he possesses.

"I'm trying to _help _you!" Lawrence says angrily, pleadingly. "You've been alone all your life, Adam! That's why you're like this way, don't you get that?!"

"And what the hell is wrong with being alone?" Adam yells, stubborn little tears rise in his eyes, and he hates them, too, hates it all because he's starting to feel it.

"You don't have anyone to take care of you!" Lawrence replies, a little louder now. "And that's when stuff like this happen! For God's sake, Adam, you're a smart kid, you…"

"Why would someone take care of me?" Adam cuts him off. "Why would I have that when no one ever stay! I'll never get rid of myself, but… Jerry tried to take care of me, and he went away, didn't he? And… Why wouldn't I take care of myself?"

He stops talking. He silences down to curse himself, because why the _hell _would he say that for?

_Because you want him to disagree, _the cold little voice says, almost dejectedly. _You want him to say that he's going to stay. You fucking little pussy. _

_No, _Adam replies in his head. _No, I won't ask him to stay. I won't be that guy. _

"Just go," he says without looking at Lawrence. "Please."

_Look! I was good now, wasn't I? _

Always this need to please that damn voice. Always this thirst for approval.

Maybe because no one's ever given it to him.

Lawrence doesn't move. Stares at him for a few seconds before he takes a step closer.

"You don't want me to go," he says, surprisingly boldly for someone who wants to lie down and cry.

"Yes," Adam says hurriedly, tries to take a step back until he remembers that he's put against a wall. "I want you to go. Go now."

"No," Lawrence says and puts a hand on his shoulder. "I'm staying here. With you."

"No," Adam says and shakes his head violently. "Go now. Please."

He stares firmly into the floor behind Lawrence. But when Lawrence doesn't even say anything, when his wonderful warmth breaks that wall down, bit by bit, it's so close to falling, so close, and it hurts so bad, Adam has to look into his eyes, put all his pride aside. And pray.

And just like when he did it that night before he met Lawrence, one of those rare nights when he actually _remembers _writhing in pain, he doesn't drop to his knees or clasp his hands together.

Maybe that's why it doesn't work.

"Lawrence," he prays. "Please. I… I'm just… You have a daughter and an ex-wife who wants to get back together with you and I… I'm not what you… _Need, _I…"

He has to stop. He's not going to cry. Has to keep some of the wall up, even though bricks fall down on both sides of him.

Lawrence lifts his free hand and puts it on Adam's other shoulder.

"Adam," he says in a shaky voice. "You are… An unemployed, sarcastic, annoying, anorexic twenty-eight year-old that smokes like a goddamn chimney. Of course you're not what I need technically, but…"

Now. Here it comes. Tears well up, drip down his cheeks, get caught in the corners of his mouth, as if to stop him from saying this last thing, even though he knows he has to say it now.

"But… I _must… _I _must _have you, for God's sake…"

Adam doesn't look at him, his gaze jumps back down, doesn't want Lawrence to see how shiny his eyes are even though he knows that he can't hide that his bottom lip is quivering.

"I can't watch… You hurting yourself," Lawrence continues, and God, the tears actually _gush _down now. "Not anymore… I…"

Adam's shoulders shake under his hands, his chest trembles in the same spasmodic way as before.

_Won't cry. Won't cry. _

"I love you… Too much for that… Adam…"

And there. There it comes.

It's stuttered out in a thick voice. But it's there.

That thing that Lawrence never dared to say, simply because he knew that Adam would've slapped it away.

It's said so gently. So fumblingly. But it's still a wall-breaker, something that cracks every trace of Adam's barricades, silences every cold little voice in his head, leaves Adam exposed, broken, and his own brokenness is so open and so big, so overwhelmingly big, so dirty and so wrong in his own eyes that he puts his hand on Lawrence's chest, makes one last, vein attempt to push him away even though he knows it's pointless, that Lawrence will stay, that he's here now and that he will be. For the rest of his life.

Because now, not even Adam can keep him away.

His pride is broken. And some parts of himself got crushed by it, but it doesn't matter. Because Lawrence is here. Lawrence can fix him.

Adam drops down to his knees. Without praying this time. He doesn't have to do it anymore. So much from his life is missing, but he still has everything he needs.

So he gives up. He surrenders to something that doesn't seem that frightening at all anymore.

Because he's got tears, big and heavy, that roll down his cheeks, tears from so much pain that he could've remembered but didn't want to, tears from a bullet in his shoulder, from loss and from liberation, he's got someone who sinks to his knees in front of him and puts his arms around him, he's got a warm embrace to crawl up into and he's got the will to admit that he needs it.

He needs it because he's human.

Because every human needs warmth. Every human needs someone else. Lawrence likes to believe that's where the expression 'other half' comes from.

That other half is another person, he learned that while he and Adam were apart. It's not a foot or any body part. And a person can hurt, it can turn against you, sure. But without it, you're still half. You lay alone and torn apart and you bleed to death slowly.

Adam tried for so long to stand above the rest of the people. For so long, he tried to be something else than a human, because he'd heard so many times that he was wrong in some way that he had to think of a reason. And he found his humanity, his clinginess, his hunger.

He wasn't going to be human. He wasn't going to be one of those who got hungry. That _needed _things.

But he can't do it anymore. He can't be without food. Without his other half.

He can only crawl up into Lawrence's arms, shake and sob and melt slowly. Maybe he doesn't have to freeze anymore.

If he allows Lawrence to warm him.

"Adam," Lawrence mumbles and tries to keep the tears out of his voice. "Do you promise me to eat breakfast tomorrow?"

"Mm," Adam whimpers, and his shoulders are shaking because he cries so hard. "Lawrence… I'm sorry… I should've… Told you…"

Lawrence cuts him off with a shushing.

"It's okay. As long as you start eating again."

Yes. If Adam starts to eat again, he doesn't have to die.

If he eats, he can tell Lawrence whatever he wants later.

If he eats, he'll have plenty of time in Lawrence's arms, where he can cry until his shakes calm down.

And then, all the times when he's skipped breakfast won't matter so much, anyway.

**YAY! Finally some happiness! You know… I could've made Adam die from his anorexia or something… So now when I've gotten him back together with Lawrence, it's only fair if you review, right? **

**By the way, on a random note: When I proofread this chapter, the song Bridge Over Troubled Water actually started playing on my iPod! (Yes, this chapter title is the name of a song, too…) It's DESTINY! **


	19. Epilogue: And Now Look At Me

**A/N: ****Okay, words cannot describe how much I'm going to miss this fic, but… This actually IS the last chapter! (Cries) Also, once again, I'm going to have to explain the chapter title: If you look at the title of chapter five, this makes more sense. Adam has come to a place in life where he has to stop looking at himself and look at Lawrence, and hopefully by this, stop focusing on his flaws and see how amazing he is… Damn, now I'm ranting. Just read and ignore me! **

**Epilogue: And Now Look At Me**

Adam Faulkner is no longer in pain.

He's sitting with Lawrence in his kitchen, he stares hesitatingly at a plate with spaghetti in front of him, and this is new, it's unaccustomed, but he's no longer in pain. He doesn't have to be anymore.

Lawrence's love is like a warm, soft hand that gently strokes over his stomach. Takes away the nausea, eases the pain.

Lawrence is sitting opposite him. He has spaghetti in front of him, too, but he hasn't touched it yet. He just stares at Adam over his plate. Not demandingly. Patiently.

"Are you going to eat?"

It's a question, not an order. And Adam nods silently.

"I will. It's just…"

He quiets down and picks up the fork next to his plate.

"What?" Lawrence asks.

Adam chuckles and shakes his head.

"It's scary as a living hell."

It is. It is scary. But Adam isn't scared.

He's been scared for so long. He's sick of it.

When you've lived your life wrapped up in a blanket of fear, and it suddenly drops from your shoulders and you stand exposed, shivering and squinting against the light, it's pretty hard to not be scared. The fear has almost turned into Adam's security at this point, but now, the fear is different, it's a tingling, tickling nervousness, a nervousness that after a while gets too much to bear on an empty stomach and makes him spin the fork between his fingers before he mercilessly jabs it into the spaghetti and lifts a big load to his mouth.

He feels like a baby. This is something brand new, he misses the mouth at the first shot and when he finally gets the damn food into his mouth, he almost gets shocked.

He'd actually forgotten what real food feels like on his tongue, big bites instead of pitiful little pieces of bread, and his stomach almost hurts again when it comes to life, wakes up after a long slumber like a sleeping dragon that suddenly stretches itself with a powerful roar.

It seems like Adam gets hungrier by every time he puts the fork in his mouth. Eventually, the bites get so big that he can't chew it all at the same time and has to spit some of it out on the plate to be able swallow. Lawrence laughs and finally picks up his own fork.

"Don't eat too fast," he says and spins some spaghetti onto his fork. "You'll throw up."

Adam chews quickly and swallows to reply.

"No way in hell," he says calmly. "I'm done throwing up."

Lawrence's smile lingers. Even when he puts the spaghetti into his mouth.

He's so proud.

He's proud of himself for helping Adam this way, proud of Adam for finally letting him help him.

Proud of them both. Because they're not afraid of each other anymore.

"Are you going to talk to me?" Lawrence asks and takes a sip of the beer in front of him.

Adam looks up from his plate. His cheeks are all blown up by the spaghetti in his mouth, he looks completely mental. He can't even shrug and answer until he's swallowed.

"Sure. What do you want to know?"

Lawrence puts his fork down. It feels like at least one of them should have their eyes on the other during this conversation.

"How long did it go on?"

Adam shrugs again. His gaze is steadily fixed on his plate.

"Don't know. At least three years, I think. It wasn't like I had someone around to keep tracks on if I had breakfast or not."

Lawrence nods.

He doesn't know why he wants to know this. Maybe he takes the chance, now that he notices that the questions don't really bother Adam anymore. Or he just wants Adam to hear his own answers.

Hear how damn stupid they sound, so he'll never do it again.

"Why did you do it?" He then asks.

That's what he really wants to know. Hell, that's what he's wanted to ask Adam since he saw him fall down on the sidewalk in front of him.

Adam still doesn't look at him. The grey eyes are hidden in the spaghetti on his plate, because he's ashamed, ashamed of the fact that it took him three years to understand that he actually almost was psychotic, three years and so many, many sleepless nights.

"Don't know," he says again, vaguely, and takes another bite of his food. "I guess it was that feeling of being… Vulnerable, or whatever you call it. Food can be so damn good sometimes, and… Well, I kind of thought that it'd… Maybe… _Make up _for all the times I actually had something good and watched it go away if I stepped off it. I've never had anything good that hasn't disappeared sooner or later."

There's a pause. The following sentence just slips out of his mouth, and even though he's not nearly as scared of admitting his love for Lawrence anymore, he immediately regrets that he said it.

"Not even you."

Lawrence startles a little. Like Adam's hit him. He's perplexed for a brief second, slowly opens his mouth, because he doesn't know hat to say, what are you supposed to say to that?

"Adam…" He says fumblingly. "I never wanted to leave you. Never. You know that."

Adam looks down. Ashamed. Tries to be dignified, but he's ashamed. And he's scared.

But once again, just for a second.

He doesn't have to be scared anymore.

"I know."

Low voice.

"I'd never leave you," Lawrence says, and god, the words are just _pouring_ out now. "I love my job, but if it was up to me, I'd still stay with you in this shithole all day."

"I know."

Still in a low voice. But Lawrence can swear that he sees a little smile on the turned-down face.

"You need to leave all that behind you, Adam," Lawrence says.

Adam doesn't even look up then.

"Everything. Your brother, the bathroom, your mom…"

The words sort of stumble over his lips now. Weird, you'd think that they'd keep rushing out in a perfect gush, considering that he's wanted to say them for a very, very long time now.

"It was awful," Lawrence says. "I really meant it when I said that not a day goes by without me whishing that that never happened to you. But… You have to let go of it now. You have to… Allow yourself to have a good life. Okay?"

Adam nods silently.

"Okay?" Lawrence repeats.

"Okay, okay, okay," Adam says with a chuckle, still without looking up. "Fuck, you're not my dad. Then we'd have a damn disturbing relationship."

Lawrence laughs, too, but is still quick with putting on a sincere face.

"Did you _want _to do it?"

There's another question that's been stored up in him forever now.

"I mean…" Lawrence says insecurely. "Were there never a part of you that just… Thought that it was sick?"

Now, Adam looks up. But he doesn't look at Lawrence, his gaze gets stuck somewhere in a corner of the ceiling.

"No," he says after a second's considering. "I know it sounds weird, but…"

Pause. All the spaghetti on Adam's plate is gone, and Lawrence waits.

"I felt… Good."

There's no better way to put it. And just the simple word of choice fills Lawrence with a feeling of powerlessness, the feeling of he's-in-misery-and-I-can't-do-anything-about-it, before he remembers that that's exactly what he's doing.

He's curing Adam.

Curing him from the anorexia. Curing him from the suffering.

"It sounds weird," Adam says again. "But… I didn't have one of those little voices in my head that told me I was an idiot, like normal people. I just had this big, fat, fucking voice that told me I was _good _when I threw my lunch up."

Lawrence has to work to keep that feeling from welling up again.

"Where's that voice now?" He asks and tries to sound like he's joking.

Adam can't possibly believe that Lawrence has any humor whatsoever in this situation. He knows him better than that. But he still smiles, a true, happy grin spreads over his face, and right then, it's probably the best moment of Lawrence's life.

"It's shutting up," Adam says and puts some more spaghetti into his mouth from the pot in front of them. "And _believe _me, it's about time.

Lawrence smiles, too. Because right now, everything's right, right now he's all warm, right now he can actually look at Adam without that grinding anxiety that he won't be able to wake up tomorrow in the bottom of his stomach. And that really is something to be thankful for.

Maybe Jigsaw would approve of them now.

"Just one more thing," Lawrence says.

"Bring it on," Adam says halfheartedly.

"If you could do it all again," Lawrence continues. "Would you?"

Adam furrows his brows.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Lawrence says, suddenly unsure of what he actually means. "If you went back in time. Three years, or whatever it was, and you had a plate of food in front of you. Would you eat it? Would you… Change those years if you had the power?"

Adam laughs. Completely joylessly.

"Of course I would."

Pause.

"Hell, you're not the only one who'd put me through that fucking bathroom again if that could change all this."

Lawrence doesn't get nearly as surprised over this as he'd like to. But he still doesn't think that Adam's fully understood his question.

"Yeah," he says. "I just wonder… Have you understood that you don't _have _to be in pain?"

Adam smiles uncertainly down at his plate.

"You want me to say it?" He says with laughter dancing in his voice. "If I could go three years back in time and change all this shit, I would, because at that point, I would've gotten that you're here, I'm stuck with you from now on, and you wouldn't let me skip a meal if a gun was held to my head. Is that a satisfying answer?"

Lawrence doesn't answer right away. He just keeps smiling, even though he knows Adam can't see it, and when he does answer, it's with something that slides up to the front of his mind from some hidden space in his brain.

"And once you have stood up," he says slowly, "don't turn around. There is no way back from where you came."

Adam finally looks at him. One eyebrow is raised, and his jaws stubbornly mill the spaghetti in his mouth.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Lawrence smiles uncertainly.

"I read that somewhere. And don't make fun of me, because in your case, I think it sounds like a reasonable advice."

Adam blushes and lowers his eyes again.

"Adam," Lawrence says seriously.

"What?" Adam mumbles and scrapes his fingernail against some invisible dirt on the table.

"You know I love you, right?"

Adam looks up at him, for a moment, but his gaze bounces back down and his blush gets even deeper.

"Adam, look at me," Lawrence says coaxingly.

He needs Adam to look at him when he says this.

Needs to know that he knows this. Needs to know that he doesn't have to worry about him running away anymore.

Adam smiles weakly and actually does look up, though reluctantly.

"Yeah," he says softly. "I know."

"And?" Lawrence says amusedly.

Adam chuckles and takes the opportunity to look down again.

"You looking for confirmation?"

"Yeah."

Now, Adam has to look at Lawrence again. That grin is back, happy and true, underlines what he now says, finally, from the bottom of his heart.

"_And," _he says. "I love you, too."

And he's never meant anything more in his life. Adam's told a lot of lies, to himself, mostly, even though he's terrible at it, but this, he means. He realizes now. Dares to realize it now.

Because Lawrence is right. It's time to move on.

Time to realize that not everyone leaves you.

Time to realize that no matter how much he wants to deny it, there is, deep down in the bleeding, scarred, battered thing that is Adam's heart, still warmth, still life, a life that he can live if he only has the courage, and love, so big and so comforting and so easing, the he wouldn't even be able to suppress it even if he still wanted to.

Lawrence smiles. And then, he stands up from his chair, walks up to Adam, pulls him onto his feet, pulls him into his body heat.

Adam inhales shakily and puts a hand on Lawrence's chest. It's true that he's not scared anymore, hell, he'd probably even let Lawrence touch his stomach this time if he wants to. But he's still inexperienced, because this is completely new to him, he's never kissed Lawrence without a mind-numbing fear that he'll notice how damn skinny Adam was.

But now.

Now, he's moved on.

Everything he once was afraid of disappears in a steamy haze of Lawrence's lips, ragged breathing, warm, naked skin pressing against his own.

Sometimes, life can really be that easy.

If you allow it to be. If you don't clutch to your own self-loathing.

It can even be as easy as Adam falling asleep an half hour later, sweaty, tired without being malnourished, sleeping without waking up in the middle of the night, writhing in pain and not remember it the morning after.

Sleep without nightmares.

Sleep soundly, but still feel, somewhere deep down in sleep-dark water, how Lawrence puts an arm around his waist, hums softly into his ear.

"_And when I kiss your soul, _

_Your body be free_

_I'll be free for you anytime. _

_And I'm going to love you more than anyone."_

**Damn, this fic really is done, isn't it? ARGH! Well, thanks a lot for the reviews I've gotten along the way! For the record, I have two new fics in mind that I'll force you to read and review, too, so don't think for a second that I'll let you relax!**


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